Midnight Sun Reimagined
by Visser2315
Summary: Even in a fairy tale, not everyone gets a happy ending—especially not when you're the villain. [The first half of Life and Death, Edythe's perspective.]
1. Preface

A/N: I knew as soon as I started working on the _New Moon Reimagined_ project there was a good chance I'd end up doing this. (If I went completely crazy that is, and even at the time, I could definitely feel the beginnings of insanity setting in.) But, what finally convinced me was, based on what I had planned for Breaking Dawn, I realized this would be perfect supplemental material. So, here we are.

Like Stephanie Meyer's incomplete rough draft, this is not going to go all the way to the end of Twilight (even taking my obvious lack of sanity into account, inspiration and time has its limits), but rather will go up through about the first half, through the end of chapter 13, then end with an epilogue. I think that will be enough to capture what it is I want to do with this side project, without turning into overkill.

Disclaimer: The Twilight series, including the incomplete, unpublished rough draft of _Midnight Sun_ , and _Life and Death: Twilight Reimagined_ belong to Stephanie Meyer. The characters, plot, and quite a few of the descriptions and word choices here belong to her, too. (Three cheers for plagiarism run rampant.)

Rated T for violence and some mild language.

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" _I saw that, of the two natures that contended in my field of consciousness, even if I could rightly be said to be either, it was only because I was radically both."_

— _The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde_

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Preface

I stared, straight into the pale blue eyes which gazed across the short space between us. Eyes the color of a clear sky—which, at the moment, were clouded with fear.

My own terror seized me—and I knew in that instant that this was the end of my fairy tale, of the fantasy I never should have let myself entertain. It had all been leading to this from the beginning. After all, what more could I, the monster, the villain of this tragic horror story, have expected?

And with that certainty, the loss of the thing I had allowed myself to desire more than anything—the thing I had plotted for, schemed for—I felt it.

The monster I had so long suppressed rose to the surface.


	2. First Sight

A/N: Since the prologue is always short and uneventful, I wanted to get this chapter up at the same time.

Hope you enjoy, and see you at the end! :J

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Chapter 1: First Sight

At that precise moment, there was only one thing I wanted—or at least, imagined I wanted.

Sleep.

For a human being, sleep was the time of day when the body could finally be inactive, when it shut down and went to the relaxing work of compressing memories, either storing them away or discarding them, occasionally slipping in a few images during the REM cycle to satisfy the secret longings of the subconscious, or else momentarily draw up secret fears that otherwise would have no release.

But of course, my kind did not sleep. No rest for the mind, no period of release.

Although, if I was being honest with myself, there was something I wanted much more than sleep.

We were sitting in a high school cafeteria. My family and I—a cafeteria packed with humans, though they gave our table a wide berth, sensing, instinctively if not consciously, that it was better to keep away from us. With every breath I took, I drew in their scent, and I could hear their beating hearts. At their proximity, I felt the venom fill my mouth, the empty hunger in my stomach, as the instinct to hunt rose from the buried depths of my inhuman mind.

Yes, if I was being honest, I wanted blood more than sleep. Even though sleep would have allowed my overly crowded mind to rest, would have put an end to the monotonous tedium of every day of my existence, the instinct for blood trumped all other desires.

And yet, I was now long used to this. I could suppress my instincts with absolute control, as I had been doing for so long. My brothers and sisters at the table nearby held their instincts in check as well—we had all grown used to it. It was part of our way. But the control was generally not so mentally exhausting for them as it was for me, perhaps because it was not only my own thirst I was forced to combat.

Of course my mind was always awash with the voices of others. My mind was not a quiet place. That was a power peculiar only to me—the humans would have called it mind-reading. The power to know the thoughts of anyone nearby. For myself, it was often more a curse than a gift. The continuous babble of inane human voices with their perpetual trivial concerns constantly inserting themselves into my consciousness without my permission. I did my best to tune them out, but still I seemed to know more than I ever wanted to know.

Today, they were all astir over a new student. I knew all the gossip—it was the son of the town police chief, whose wife had run off and deserted him years ago. The reaction was predictable—fascination with the scandal, followed by interest in something new in the otherwise repetitive, predictable events in this small town, where new faces were rare.

One thing I knew about human nature was that they thrived on the new—they were easy to please.

I also often wished I could block the thoughts of my brothers and sisters from my mind, though for another reason—they were used to the lack of privacy in my presence, and rarely gave it a thought, but still it bothered me. I was always an intruder in their minds, trying not to listen, but never able to stop the stream of voices.

I did not look at any of them, yet I knew what they were thinking.

My brother Royal was leaning casually against the back of his chair. He was not thinking of human blood, for which I was relieved—rather he was, as he often was, thinking about himself. He'd caught sight of his own profile in a bit of metal in the welding of a table nearby, and was mulling over his own perfect physique. That was fairly typical—if any of our kind personified the human from the legend of Narcissus, it would be Royal. The depths of his self-absorbed mind wouldn't come up to your ankles.

Eleanor's thoughts were also far from the hordes of easy prey mulling around us. She was irritated, busy plotting to orchestrate a rematch against Jessamine, after losing a bout of sparring the night before. Eleanor rarely, if ever, had a thought she felt the need to hide. She didn't mind sharing everything that went through her mind to the world—sometimes to a fault. But it was a relief not to feel like an unwelcome intruder in her mind, unintentionally mining her most sensitive secrets, as I did to the others.

Archie...Archie was worried about Jessamine.

And he had a right to be.

It had been maybe two weeks since we had last hunted—not a problem for most of us, but I couldn't turn my attention in Jessamine's direction without wishing I could somehow block it out. My own thirst I dealt with easily enough out of habit, but adding the thirst of someone else's mind to mine always compounded it. And Jessamine was struggling.

Jessamine stared down at the table, not looking at anyone, but she was radiating such an intensity that I wouldn't have doubted that even the normally unobservant, blind humans would have been afraid to come near her today. Her thirst was in my mind too, making me see and feel her struggle to maintain control.

 _Edythe._

I knew Archie's voice immediately. In the past, whenever someone thought the name, my head would automatically turn. I had been relieved when the name had fallen almost completely out of style.

However, I didn't turn—we had gotten fairly good at these silent conversations. My eyes stayed on a few lines of plaster that ran along the ceiling.

 _How is she?_ he asked.

There was no good answer to this question, but I responded honestly. My brow furrowed ever so slightly, the corner of my mouth turning down. The others wouldn't notice.

Archie was worried now, and I could see through his perspective as he carefully watched Jessamine through the corner of his eye.

 _Think there's any danger?_

But even as he asked the question, he was already scanning ahead, checking the immediate future, skimming through the continued tedium to find what my signals meant. That was Archie's power—the power of foresight, to read the future like an open book. The humans would have called him a psychic.

I turned my head slowly to the left, as if I was looking at the bricks, sighed, then back to the right and cracks in the ceiling. A shake of the head only Archie would be able to translate.

Archie relaxed a little. _Tell me if it starts getting too bad. And—thanks for doing this._

I didn't respond, only kept staring at the ceiling cracks. Monitoring Jessamine's thoughts was far from a pleasant experience. I often thought it was less than wise for her to experiment like this—to push her limits. Jessamine wanted to get better, but perhaps she ought to accept her past was not the same as the others. The progress she had made was already remarkable, there seemed no reason to take risks like this.

Of all my brothers and sisters, I probably had the best control over my instincts. I couldn't match Carine, our mother, but then, no one matched Carine. I'd lived a few years on a diet of human prey, so I knew the taste of human blood well, and though the taste was still burned in my memory, different as light and day in comparison with the animal blood we subsisted on now, I had always considered restraint one of my strong points. I had never accidentally killed a human I didn't mean to. That was more than could be said for Eleanor, whose loss of control had forced us to move more than once, and Archie, who had tried the vegetarian lifestyle from the moment he was born, but being all alone, had only had partial success.

I continued to monitor Jessamine's thoughts for Archie, looking for any sign of a change, a weakening of resolve. She was holding on—but barely. Jessamine had lived on our natural food source for over a century, and she struggled the most of all of us. She was positively dangerous right now. She was like a keg of black powder—ready to explode.

At that moment, a boy paused at the end of the table closest to ours. He was a bit on the small, scrawny side, a freshman. He bent to talk to someone, scratching the back of his neck as he did so, kicking up skin flakes in the air—just as the heaters blew his scent in our direction.

I was used to the way the scent affected me. The dry ache in my throat, the hollow yearning in my stomach, the automatic coiling of my muscles. After so much experience, it would have been almost easy to ignore—except for one thing.

Jessamine's resolve wavered, just for an instant—she didn't turn her head, but she saw the boy in her peripheral vision, and a new image formed itself in her mind. She saw herself getting up from the place she sat beside Archie, going over to the boy. Pressing her lips to his throat as though to kiss him, feeling the hot flow of his pulse beneath her mouth—

I kicked her chair under the table.

Jessamine's eyes refocused, and she met my gaze for a fraction of a second before her eyes dropped. Shame and rebellion warred in her head for a moment. Shame finally won out.

"Sorry," she muttered.

Archie leaned over. "Don't worry, love, you weren't going to do anything," he murmured in her ear.

I returned my eyes carefully to the ceiling cracks. Archie could lie to Jessamine if it made him feel better. I wouldn't say anything—we had to stick together, he and I, with our disturbing, intrusive gifts.

Jessamine didn't reply and, sighing, Archie got up from the table, his still-full food tray in hand. While Eleanor and Royal flaunted their relationship at every opportunity, Archie and Jessamine were so in tune with one another they could almost read one another's minds. And Archie knew when Jessamine had had enough encouragement.

Jessamine would have to go hunting tonight. It was senseless, putting herself through this kind of torture just trying to build her endurance, and taking this kind of chance.

My mind was feeling tired again, weighed down with the strain and tedium. If only I could sleep.

 _Edythe Cullen._

I turned my head in reflex at the sound of my name, though I wasn't hearing it spoken, only in thought.

My eyes first fell on one of the other students facing away from me, before sliding automatically to meet the gaze of a pair of blue eyes staring back at me.

I instantly recognized the face I had seen a dozen times in the thoughts of all the humans here, though it was one I had never laid eyes on myself. The new student, brought to Forks thanks to a new custody situation. Beaufort Swan, though he seemed to prefer Beau—I couldn't blame him for that. _Beaufort_ was the kind of name that would likely invite bullying.

In spite of the hype surrounding his arrival, especially from the girls, he seemed remarkably ordinary, even for a human. He had dark hair, clearly combed through but kept in no particular style, and wide, pale blue eyes that gave him a permanent look of uncertainty. Some of the girls were a flutter because of how tall he was, but even sitting down, I thought he looked like he would be a bit gawky on his feet.

My gaze returned to our table, my momentary vague curiosity already lost. It was simply impossible for me to be interested in the trivial dramas of human high school...

 _Oh great, don't tell me he's already into Edythe Cullen. Dream on, man._

This was a continuation of the other thought, and I realized, belatedly, that the new kid had not been the one to think my name. I recognized the mental voice of Jeremy Stanley—I tried not to look into his thoughts if I could avoid it. For a while he had nursed a kind of extreme infatuation with me, and I was certain that if I was capable of sleep, his disturbingly graphic sexual fantasies would have given me nightmares. He'd seemed to have gotten over it now, but I'd only gotten through it at the time by entertaining myself imagining what would _actually_ happen to him at even the earliest stages of his crude, warped daydreams—there would probably be a lot of moaning, but not the kind he imagined. Probably screaming, too.

 _Yeah right,_ thought Jeremy. _If he thinks he's all that just because he's got half the girls in the school gawking at him like he's some kind of rock star, he's got another thing coming. The Cullens couldn't care less. And even all this is just because he's the new guy. Things will settle down after a while...I hope._

I saw through his eyes as his gaze flickered to McKayla Newton at the next table over, who was watching the new kid with a look of open fascination. McKayla was a fairly popular student, and the girl Jeremy had most recently set his sights on, though she had always been oblivious to him. McKayla ought to count herself lucky she couldn't read Jeremy's thoughts.

Jeremy perked up. _But you know, on the bright side, if I'm hanging around this guy, maybe I'll get a chance to get to know McKayla better. Sounds like a plan—yeah, you're a genius, man._

I pulled my concentration away from Jeremy and his internal monologue of self-congratulations. Humans were all the same. Constantly trying to use and manipulate each other for some advantage. I was so used to it, this probably shouldn't have annoyed me, but it did.

 _What?_ Eleanor thought, directing it at me. She had seen me turn to look, and her mental tone was curious.

"Nothing," I murmured back, too low for anyone to hear. "Just someone airing all the nice rumors about us for the new student."

Eleanor flashed a smile. _Anything good?_

"Hardly," I murmured back, lip curling. "The usual scandal speculation. Not even a hint of horror, I'm disappointed."

 _What does the new guy think of us?_ Eleanor asked. She had forced her expression back to neutral to avoid attracting attention, but the tone of her thoughts was delighted.

In all honesty, I didn't really care to know. I'd seen all manner of human thought before, especially where we were concerned. And in case he was another Jeremy, I was certainly not looking forward to being subjected to another array of mental sexual exploits. He appeared to be the quiet, shy type, but in my experience, sometimes they were the worst.

Still, it was part of my job in this family to act as a lookout, to keep an eye on the minds of the humans around us. If for some reason they began to suspect something unnatural, I could give us early warning, so we could quietly slip away without incident if it became necessary.

I listened carefully, focusing my attention on the spot beside Jeremy, where I'd seen the new boy a moment before. However, I heard nothing. Only silence.

I frowned slightly. He couldn't have moved, I could still hear Jeremy talking to him, and I could see the new student's face through Jeremy's eyes.

Very strange. I looked up to check, to see if he was still there, and found that he was. His eyes were on us as Jeremy recounted for him all the local gossip, and as my gaze rose, his eyes met mine.

He looked away quickly, red splotches of embarrassment creeping up his neck and blooming on his face. But I didn't look away. I felt my eyebrows furrow slightly as I concentrated—but, try as I might, I couldn't hear anything. The spot where he sat felt empty. As though there were no one sitting there at all.

I felt the barest flicker of unease. I'd never encountered this before. What did it mean?

I kept my eyes glued to the back of his unsuspecting head as Jeremy kept talking, concentrating. Suddenly the babble of voices I'd been trying to tune out were a roar.

 _...wonder what he likes to do,_ McKayla was thinking. _Maybe I'll ask him what music he likes._ _I think we have our next class together..._

 _You've got to be kidding,_ Erica was thinking, eyes on McKayla's absorbed expression. _She has half the guys in the school after her, and of course she has to zero right in on the new guy. He's off-limits, blondie! I saw him first!_

 _...looks like a serious dweeb,_ a boy named Logan was thinking, eying the new kid with disgust. _But just the kind of pathetic loser girls flock to. Unbelievable. He's even got Edythe Cullen's attention._

 _...bet just about everyone's already asked him that,_ thought Asher Dowling. _But wonder if he's into basketball?_

 _...if he's in my Spanish class, then maybe..._ Jordan Richardson was thinking.

All thoughts at the table seemed to revolve around the new kid—all but a quiet boy, sitting at the far end of the table, too absorbed in thoughts of the piles of homework that waited for him when he got home. Allen Weber—he'd always been quiet and kept to himself, more focused on his own responsibilities than getting caught up with gossip over the newest thing.

I could hear every mental voice as clear as crystal, every frivolous thought magnified in my focused mind so they sounded like a cacophony of shouts. Yet the focus of all this attention was almost eerily silent—like he wasn't really there. A nonentity.

Now that my focus was directed at the table across the cafeteria, I could make out their actual voices. So I heard it when he asked about me.

"Which one is the girl with reddish brown hair?" he asked in a low voice. His head turned partway around, looking at me from the corner of his eye—his gaze darted away quickly when he found my eyes were still on him.

My brow creased again. I'd hoped that hearing his actual voice might help me identify the particular sound of his mental voice—normally the two were very similar, and easy to match. But spoken aloud, I knew for certain this was a voice I'd never heard before. New. A mental voice I'd never heard.

 _Yeah, that's what I thought,_ Jeremy was thinking. _Might as well give it up, pal. You have no chance. Zero. Zilch._

Jeremy answered, saying his thoughts aloud, though tempering them a bit—he wanted the new kid to like him if he was going to use him to get attention from McKayla.

"That's Edythe. She's hot, sure, but don't waste your time. She doesn't go out with anyone. Apparently none of the guys here are good enough for her."

I looked away to hide my smile. Jeremy and the others really had no idea how fortunate they were none of them personally appealed to me. If they wanted to make it to twenty, anyway.

I didn't look in that direction again, but my thoughts lingered there, with the new kid. More than likely, he wasn't thinking anything worth knowing. But I was used to knowing absolutely everything in a given room of people; I immediately knew all the hidden dynamics invisible to everyone else, held all the pieces of a given puzzle. This was unsettling—a room that was a perfectly finished puzzle to me, but for one tiny piece missing, right in the middle. I doubted he could possibly be any danger to us. But still, having the blind spot was...frustrating.

"Let's go." Royal got up from the table.

I blinked, coming out of my reverie, and shook my head. Foolish, to obsess over one tiny blind spot, when there was no reason to be nervous or alarmed—it could only be a glitch of some kind. My obsessive-compulsive impulses were better suppressed.

"So," Eleanor said, grinning as she leaned down to mutter to me as we left the cafeteria. "New kid scared out of his mind of us yet?"

I shrugged.

Eleanor took that to mean the story of whatever was going on in his head didn't make a very interesting one, and she let it drop.

In truth, it probably wasn't very interesting. Still, I couldn't deny the strong compulsion I felt to complete the puzzle—to see every part of the common, high school dynamics that held absolutely zero interest for me.

Eleanor, Royal, and Jessamine were pretending to be seniors, while I was playing a role a year younger, so they headed off for their classes while I left for mine. Archie had already gone to his class—I could sense his thoughts, all focused on Jessamine, watching for even the slightest hint of danger. I turned for my junior level Biology class—again, I felt a rare flicker of envy for the humans going to the class as well. They could sleep through it if they chose. I, on the other hand, had an hour of uninterrupted, mindless tedium ahead of me. It was unlikely Mrs. Banner, hardly the most gifted or original teacher in the world, could manage to pull out anything in her lecture to pique the interest of someone with two graduate degrees in medicine.

In the classroom, I slid down into my chair at my usual table. I was the only one who had a table to myself. The humans couldn't help but fear me on some primal level, even if they didn't consciously understand the reason, and so they naturally kept away from me. It was better that way.

The room slowly filled as they all trickled in from the halls. As I waited, my mind drifted back automatically to the anomaly at lunch. I was a little curious—was there somehow a glitch in _my_ power, or was it something unique about this new student? I didn't yet know how to test such a theory; I would have to put some more thought into it.

Perhaps because I still was thinking of the cafeteria, when I heard the new student's name in someone's thoughts, it drew my attention. Allen Weber entered the class with the transfer student beside him.

 _Beau...seems kind of like a quiet guy, like me. He looked kind of uncomfortable out there. I sort of want to ask him what kind of stuff he likes to do. If he's a reader, maybe we like some of the same books. But he's probably sick of questions..._

McKayla glanced up, and I felt a flutter of pleasure from her. _It's him! I knew it._

Still, I couldn't hear the new guy. Where Beau Swan stood, there was nothing, like the space was empty. Like he was cloaked—invisible to my gaze. A missing puzzle piece in an otherwise complete puzzle.

I kept my eyes on my table, shifting the books I'd pulled from my bag so they were only on one side. There was only one empty spot in the entire classroom, so that would be where Beau Swan would have to sit. I doubted he would like it much there, humans found themselves repelled by us by nature. But perhaps it would afford me the chance to introduce myself and ask a few probing questions. Just to give me an idea of what kind of threat he might pose regarding our secret.

The boy was left alone as Allen Weber turned and headed to his own table. The boy shuffled a little awkwardly down the central aisle, likely headed for the teacher to have his paper signed and be assigned a seat, though it was obvious which one he would be given.

As I watched him, unable to completely conceal my curiosity, he shambled past my table. As he did so, he happened to step in front of the nearby air vent, the heated air blowing toward me—and that was when it hit me.

In that instant, everything changed. The world seemed to shift on its axis, viciously, violently, and everything I had once known was no more. One moment, everything was normal—I was Edythe Cullen, daughter of Carine Cullen, who had chosen this pacifistic, somewhat odd way of life. The next, I felt my life divide in two, and everything that had come before I suddenly realized was meaningless. There was only one thing in this world I wanted—that I realized I had ever wanted. That I would have searched the world for if I had only known it existed.

I was a predator, and my prey—prey I had not known until this moment that I had been waiting a hundred years for—was before me.

I sat in a room full of witnesses, but they were nothing—they could not be allowed to live, of course, seeing what I was about to do. But I was prepared to do worse—much worse—to only taste that exquisite blood coursing through those pale veins.

My throat burned like fire, my mouth dry and desiccated, but it was a wonderful feeling, when I thought of the taste with which I would soon quench it. The venom filled my mouth and I bent slightly over my desk, coiling to spring.

Not even a full second had passed, and he was still in midstep, still right beside my desk.

Just as he passed, his gaze slid toward me, and our eyes met.

I noticed, for the first time, just how wide his eyes were, the pale blue of a cloudless spring sky. For an instant I saw my own face reflected back at me in them, a dark outline against the light.

The face I saw was not human. It was feral, contorted with fury and thirst.

The shock of seeing that face froze me for an instant—saving Beau Swan's life. At least for a few more seconds.

Seeing my expression, he quickly looked away. Unfortunately, as he did, blood flooded his face.

I couldn't look away. The sight of the blood in his face—the overpowering aroma—it was like a fog in my mind, muffling every other sense. I couldn't escape the feeling that everything in my life, no, my existence, had been leading up to this. So I would be able to taste it—a blood like no other.

My eyes followed him as he continued, more quickly now, up the aisle. He half-tripped over something in the walkway and had to catch himself on the edge of the table. His face was still...appealingly red.

But the memory of the dark face I saw in the blue eyes halted me. That face was not one that was unfamiliar to me—it had once been my face, long ago, as I stalked my prey in dark back alleys, slaking my thirst with the blood of those humans whose thoughts most infuriated and disgusted me. The monster covered in blood, who thought she would be less a monster if she only killed other monsters.

I had spent decades trying to crush that monster from existence. Decades of uncompromising discipline and rigorous control—and now was it to be all undone in a moment?

The voice that asked the question was a small one, muffled by the scent that swirled around my head, addling my thoughts, intoxicating me.

I clenched my fist against my leg beneath the table, as I aimed all my concentration at staying in my seat. Of not springing on his unsuspecting back as he went up to the teacher.

He would come sit beside me. And then...and then.

That was when it would happen.

I would have to kill him. I would lean over, as though to speak with him, and then I would touch my mouth to his skin. I would kill him instantly, long before he even had a chance to realize what was happening. However, I would have to be quick—I would have maybe half a minute before the others realized something was wrong. Saw what I was doing. And then I would have to take care of them. They couldn't be allowed to leave—not the eighteen other children and the woman—after seeing what they saw. They wouldn't be able to escape through the windows, they were too high up, so all I would need to do was block the door. Then none of them would be able to escape.

But there would be a lot of screaming. That would attract more witnesses I would be forced to dispose of. And it would be harder to kill them, ensure I got them all, when they were in a panic and scrambling in chaos.

I was slightly more rational than I had been a moment ago. I was rational enough to feel guilt—I felt sick at the thought of murdering an entire room full of innocent humans. But I didn't see another way.

Still, my mind continued to race, forming a new plan as I realized the flaws in the first.

The only thing to do was to kill the witnesses first. I pictured it in my mind, calculating. I was in the center of the room, the furthest row in the back. I could take the right side first—I could kill four or five of them per second. It would be quiet, just a quick snap of the neck. The right side was lucky—they would not see me coming, have no idea what was about to happen before the end came. Once I was done with them, I would move around the front, taking out the teacher, then move down the left side. The entire process would take, at most, five seconds to complete.

In this scenario, Beau Swan would have a moment to see what was coming for him. A long enough time to realize, and feel fear.

I breathed deeply, drawing in the burning scent that ran like a tongue of flames through my empty veins. He was turning now, coming back to my table. In a moment, he would sit down beside me.

I readied myself to do what had to be done, and I felt the venom fill my mouth in anticipation. I was glad I was going with this plan, kill the witnesses first—this way, when I killed him, I would have a chance to savor it, and the blood would still be warm.

Someone slammed a folder shut on my left. I didn't turn to see who it was, but the motion sent a wave of ordinary, unscented air wafting across my face.

For one moment, my mind was suddenly clear. Once again, for one short second, I was Edythe Cullen—Cullen, the name I had taken after Carine. My creator, my mentor, my mother...the one who for all these years I had so struggled to emulate.

But Edythe Cullen was about to be lost. In a moment, my eyes would glow red with human blood, and all the effort I had exerted, how hard I had tried to be someone that Carine could be proud of, would be for nothing.

I knew Carine would forgive me for this terrible thing I was about to do. Because she loved me as I had never deserved to be loved. She had believed in me, that I was better than I was, and she would still love me—even as I proved her wrong.

Beau Swan sat down in the chair beside mine, his movements stiff and awkward. Again I was assailed by his scent—it surrounded me, too powerful to resist.

I was about to prove Carine wrong about me, fail her in every conceivable way. She had trusted me, believed I would help her uphold her ideology of sacrifice and selflessness and pacifism, and now I was about to betray her.

Hatred suddenly blazed to life in my empty chest—a hatred so crippling it nearly drowned out everything else. Hatred for this intoxicating scent that I could not resist. Hatred for this boy, who could have gone to any town, but had to pick this one, just when I'd finally begun to feel I could be the person Carine hoped for me to be. And hatred for myself, the monster.

 _You have a choice,_ a voice whispered in the back of my mind, a voice that sounded very much like Carine's. _Remember, no matter how great the temptation, you always have a choice, Edythe._

I had been leaning away from him, my fist clenched tightly against my leg as I fought to resist, though I knew it was a hopeless effort. That any moment I would begin. The right side first, then back down the left...

 _You always have a choice._

But the scent was in my nose and mouth, overshadowing everything else. There was no choice.

 _You always have a choice, Edythe,_ Carine's voice whispered.

I was perfectly still for several seconds. I closed my eyes—then, with a tremendous effort, I cut the air from my lungs.

My mind cleared, and the relief was powerful, instantaneous.

But even so, I could not remove the memory of the scent. It was still there, filling my body with longing. I had delayed the final act, no more—but then, if I could just wait one hour, that might make all the difference. The teacher and the other students wouldn't have to die. Only one. They could be saved.

Time seemed to slow to a crawl. Every beat between the click of the second hand seemed to hang in the air, lasting an impossible eternity.

It was uncomfortable, not breathing, being without a sense of smell. The memory of the smell of the blood had my throat burning with thirst, and I burned with hatred against that which had reduced me to this—the scent that was trying to take control of me, trying to force me to betray Carine and everyone else I loved, betray myself.

I concentrated on the hatred, letting it expand, and remembered my irritation with the boy for being the missing piece in my perfectly completed puzzle. I tried to let the emotions consume me—hatred for this pale, gangly creature that, with all its ordinariness, could somehow possess such power over me, make me into something I did not want to be. Hatred and irritation were easier to deal with than the thirst, the dry ache in my throat.

I had to make it through this hour. That was all. If I could just make it through this one hour...

When he walked out of this room, what would I do then? How could I get him alone?

I would introduce myself. _"Hello, my name is Edythe Cullen. Would you mind if I walked with you to your next class?"_

He would agree. It would be the polite thing to do, even if, instinctively, he already feared me—saw in my eyes the monster he did not consciously know existed. I could take him the wrong direction, perhaps say I'd forgotten a book in my car. A spur of forest reached out like a finger to touch the back corner of the parking lot. I could kill him in an instant and disappear into the forest. I would have a few minutes, and then I could be back to my next class, no one the wiser...

But would anyone notice that I was the last person he'd been seen with? It was raining as usual, and two dark raincoats heading in the wrong direction shouldn't pique much interest. And most would probably find the idea of a girl with my small frame senselessly murdering a new boy I didn't know incredible. Yet surely it would be suspicious, and there was no doubt the other students would notice if he left the class with me. McKayla, in particular—she had been watching the new student closely, and she would definitely notice if I got him to leave with me.

In that moment, I hated her almost as I hated the stranger sitting beside me.

Then, if not in one hour...what about two?

The fire burned in my throat, and I flinched at the thought. Of enduring this torture for another—I saw the clock out of the corner of my eye—hour and fifty-six minutes.

But that had to be the better choice. He would go home to an empty house. I knew Police Chief Swan worked a full day, and I knew exactly where the house was, as I knew every house in town—it was nestled right up against thick woods, with no close neighbors. The perfect place to do what I had to do.

Wait, just two hours. Wait, so I didn't have to kill any of the others in this room. Wait, so I didn't put my family in danger of discovery. That was the way to do this—the responsible way. I'd gone so many decades without tasting human blood, surely I could last two hours if I held my breath.

No one else would have to die then, I thought.

And, the other darker part of me added, then there would be time to linger over the experience. To enjoy it to the fullest.

Of course, even as the thoughts passed through my mind, I knew—I knew that even if I waited, saved the lives of everyone in this room by effort and patience, that would not change the monster I was about to become, when I murdered this young, innocent human. I hated myself as much as I hated him—and I would hate us both so much more when he was dead.

The hour lasted an eternity. I concentrated all my thoughts, all my attention, on strategy. I pictured in vivid detail how I would slip inside the home, how I would come up behind him, and kill him before he could be any the wiser. Before he had time to scream, to realize his life was about to end... I didn't allow my imagination to go further than that. To imagine the blood in my mouth, the taste—that would have undone me. Over and over I saw myself going to the house, slipping inside, stalking up behind him, my hand snapping his neck in one quick, painless motion. No need to be cruel, as I had sometimes been in the past to those who deserved it. No need for him to suffer...

I barely noticed what was going on around me. If someone had spoken my name, I wouldn't have heard it.

As we neared the end at last, someone came around, passing out papers—an old quiz from a previous class period—and handed one to the boy to hand to me. He glanced at it. Then, as he slid the paper over to my desk, for the first time since the beginning of class his gaze flickered toward me.

Again I saw my own face reflected in his wide blue eyes. The face of a monster—a monster that was even now plotting his death, and blaming him for it, hating him with every fiber of her being for her own weakness.

He looked away quickly, going red again—I didn't breathe, though the image of having him right now once again flashed through my mind.

But just then the bell rang, distracting me enough to push the picture from my mind, and return to my original plan.

I didn't walk as slowly as I should have as I exited the room. If someone had been watching me, they might have noticed it seemed unnatural. But as I heard the thoughts, no one was thinking about me. They were all thinking about him. The boy who was about to die in an hour's time.

I raced to my car, to get away from their thoughts, and from that room. I needed to be alone—away from their thoughts swirling around my target, and away from the warm bodies that I, in this weakened state, might find myself tempted by.

I turned on a CD, listening to the music play, and I breathed deeply, sucking in the wet, clean air that drifted in with the light rain through my open windows. It didn't flush out the memory of Beau Swan's blood from my mind—but as I took in fresh breath after fresh breath, the clear, cool air rushed through me, clearing me out, as though purifying me from a disease.

Sanity returned. I was Edythe Cullen again. I could fight the monster—I could be who I wanted to be.

I didn't have to go to his home. I didn't have to kill him.

 _You always have a choice, Edythe..._

I did have a choice. I could see that now, now that I was away from the scent. So long as I was away, I was fine. I could resist the temptation. If I only took great care to avoid him, perhaps my life didn't have to change. The way things were now, everything was in perfect order, just as I liked it. I didn't have to let that be ruined by a stranger. I didn't have to betray myself, betray Carine.

My thoughts, for the first time, flickered to Archie. Surely he had to have seen the massacre I plotted, or at least seen me murdering the new transfer student. Why hadn't he come? Was it possible that maybe he hadn't seen anything because I wouldn't have done anything? Was I stronger than I had realized?

But I knew, even as I thought it, it wasn't true. The only explanation was that all his concentration was on Jessamine. It seemed inconceivable that, in all that time, his mind hadn't turned to me for even a moment, even seen a flicker. But then, it was only an hour—an hour a thousand times longer to me than to anyone else.

I expanded my mind, searching for his familiar mental voice, and sure enough, his mind was focused like a laser on Jessamine, watching her smallest choices with minute scrutiny.

I was torn. On the one hand, I wanted someone to talk to, badly—I felt the need for help, support, more than I could ever remember. But a part of me was glad he had not seen it. Had not seen just exactly what horrors I was capable of.

I felt the beginnings of a deep shame well up inside me, burning. I didn't want any of them to know. And if I could keep away from him, hold myself in check and refuse to contemplate it again, while still going about my normal life, maybe none of them had to.

The last hour of school was almost over. I decided to take steps for my latest plan. Better than sitting in the school parking lot where _he_ would no doubt go, and destroy my hard-won resolve.

He was my worst enemy. That was the only way I could think of him. But he would not control me, so long as I kept studiously away from him.

I walked swiftly, a little too swiftly, across the empty parking lot to the school office.

I found it empty but for the receptionist, Mr. Cope. He was bent, writing something on a paper on his desk, and didn't notice my silent entrance.

"Mr. Cope?"

He glanced up, startled.

"Oh—" he began. "Edythe Cullen." He composed himself and turned his chair slightly in my direction. "What can I do for you?"

I knew from his thoughts I had all his attention. He wanted to please me. There were some advantages to being an attractive young girl, small and slight—it often automatically triggered a protective instinct in males. If there were any indecent thoughts in Mr. Cope, they were still on the periphery, not fully realized. For the moment, anyway.

"I was wondering if you could help me with my schedule," I said, using a soft, gentle voice that always seemed to help put humans at ease, and make them more amenable.

"Of course," he said, scooting the chair a little closer and leaning forward. "What is it?"

This time, this close, he couldn't stop his gaze flickering appreciatively over my face.

 _Easy on the eyes, this one. It's a wonder she doesn't have a boyfriend already._ In some ways, Mr. cope was almost as plugged into the school gossip as the students.

"I was wondering if I could move from my Biology class to a senior level science? I was thinking perhaps physics..." When Mr. Cope raised his eyebrows, I answered his question before he could ask it. "I realized I've already studied this material."

"I see," Mr. Cope said, frowning. "I remember you were in an accelerated program back in Alaska. Hmm..." _They really should all be in college. Never a wrong answer on a test. Hard to believe how gifted they all are, and aren't even related. I wonder if their parents put them through some rigorous home-tutoring. I guess their mother_ is _a doctor..._

"Well," he said aloud. "I would like to do that for you, Edythe, but physics is pretty much full right now. Mrs. Banner has a limit of twenty-five students per class, and there wouldn't be enough seats."

"Might I drop the class then?" I asked, my voice still soft and polite. "I could use the period for independent study."

Mr. Cope stared at me, perplexed. "But then you won't have enough credits to graduate." _What is it? Does she have some problem with Mrs. Banner? But she's willing to take physics from her. Is it something else? These Cullen kids are just so strange..._

Mr. Cope was getting suspicious. I was clearly not being convincing enough, and I had to distract him. It was time to get down and break out every trick of persuasion I knew.

The door opened behind me, but whoever it was did not think of me, and all my attention was on my mark.

I leaned over the desk, making my eyes wide and vulnerable—I only hoped the current blackness didn't unnerve him.

I heard his heart stutter, and his thoughts were briefly completely incoherent. The indecent thoughts on the periphery crowded in for a second.

"I can catch up next year," I said softly, pleadingly. "Isn't there another section I could switch to? An open slot somewhere... Sixth hour Biology can't be the only option..."

"Well..." Mr. Cope began unsteadily, wavering as he couldn't seem to keep a continuous train of thought. "I could...perhaps talk to Mrs. Banner and see..."

Just then, someone else entered the office—I knew her, of course. Samantha Wells. She placed a signed tardy slip in the basket on the desk, then left as soon as she came.

But when she opened the door, it sent a breeze from the doorway in my direction. And as the scent hit me, I suddenly knew why I hadn't heard the thoughts of the person who had entered a moment ago.

I felt every muscle in my body tense. I slowly turned, though I didn't need to, to know who it was standing behind me.

There he was, back pressed to the wall beside the door, a piece of paper clutched in his hand. Beau Swan.

My prey. My nemesis.

The smell of the impossibly alluring blood saturated every particle of air in the small, hot room. My throat seared. As I looked into the wide, pale blue eyes, clear as a summer afternoon sky, I saw my face again—hideous, grotesque with fury and hunger.

My hand hesitated in the air above the counter. I would not even have to look back, in order to reach across it and slam Mr. Cope's head into his desk with enough force to kill him. Two lives, rather than twenty. A trade.

As I looked into my enemy's wide, startled eyes, I saw a flicker of fear there—his limited human experience did not know what to make of me, my behavior, but even so, he could read my intentions in my murderous eyes. His body instinctively knew the danger his mind could not fathom.

 _You always have a choice, Edythe,_ Carine's voice whispered.

My mind was in a fog, so I did the only thing I could—I cut off the motion of my lungs. I slowly turned back to face Mr. Cope.

He stared at me in open astonishment—at the inhuman look on my face that I'd directed at the new student. He, too, felt an instinctual fear he could not put into rational words, even in his mind.

Instead, he simply thought, _Oh, I guess that explains it. Beaufort Swan had sixth hour Biology, too. Something must have happened, I bet he made a pass at her. Can't totally blame him for coming on to her, but—what an expression! Feel bad for the kid, getting on her bad side on the first day..._

Using every bit of control I'd mastered over decades of self-denial, with my last bit of air, I said softly, "Never mind, then. I can see that it's impossible. Thank you so much for your help."

I fled from the room like a bat out of hell—trying not to feel the heat of his form as I passed, barely inches from him.

I strode, too fast across the parking lot. The lot was mostly empty, and the one head that glanced in my direction quickly disregarded any oddness as imagination.

I didn't stop until I was safely inside my Volvo, slamming the door shut behind me like a protective barrier. I tried to control my breathing, but I was gasping at the fresh air like I'd nearly suffocated.

The others were already in the car, and the look on my face immediately had their attention.

"Edy?" Archie said, from where he was sitting shotgun, looking alarmed. "What is it? What happened?"

Eleanor leaned between the two front seats, frowning. "You look like a wreck."

I didn't answer. I threw the car into reverse and swung it around—had to get out. Had to get out before he could follow me here, too. My own personal enemy, who was determined to ruin me.

I pressed the pedal down hard, hitting forty before we were on the road. On the road, we were doing seventy before we reached the corner.

I didn't look back, but I sensed when all eyes in the car turned to look at Archie for an explanation. He shrugged. He couldn't look into the past, only the future, and he hadn't been watching me all afternoon.

I felt when Archie probed my future. We both saw it at the same moment, and I was almost as surprised as he was.

"You're leaving?" he asked quietly. We both knew he didn't mean school. The image we both saw, I was leaving Forks, speeding away to the north at two-hundred miles an hour...

"Am I?" I hissed through my teeth. I felt my resolve waver—and Archie saw it. We both did.

Just flickers, at first. Beau Swan, lying dead. Me, standing over him, my eyes glowing crimson with the fresh human blood flowing through me. An organized search, as people sought out the police chief's missing son. The careful time we would wait before it was finally safe for us to pull out again...

Archie's face had gone blank with shock. The usual smile lines around his eyes were gone.

The vision sharpened, growing more specific.

Chief Swan's house—though I had never been inside, I knew instinctively that was where it was. I saw a small kitchen with yellow cupboards. Beau Swan stood at the counter—washing dishes, it looked like, a drying rag over his shoulder—and I stalked silently through the house, emerging from the shadows. He didn't know, didn't even turn as I—

"Stop!" I shouted, pressing a hand to the side of my head.

The image faded, then disappeared.

"Sorry," Archie whispered. He was pale.

Even as I was reviled by myself, a deep part of me felt a flicker of satisfaction, anticipation—the monster, the beast within, a slave to the desire for the boy's blood.

But I clenched my teeth and forced it down, and a quieter vision filled Archie's head, the same as before. An empty highway at night, lined by trees coated in snow, flashing by like a blurred oil painting.

Archie nodded slowly. "We'll miss you while you're gone."

Eleanor glanced at Royal, and he was frowning.

We were almost to the turnoff onto the long drive that led to our home.

"Just leave us here," Archie said. "You should go back and tell Carine...what you're going to do."

I nodded once, sharply, then brought the car to a sudden, screeching stop.

Eleanor, Royal, and Jessamine all got out in silence—they would make Archie tell them everything once I was gone. Their thoughts were all concerned, somber. I could see my face in their minds, an amalgamation of too many emotions—desire, rage, desperation. And above all, terror. Terror of the monster—the monster I continually referred to in the third person, as though it were something outside myself, a entity of its own, separate from Edythe Cullen, even when, deep down, I knew it was me. _I_ wanted it. There was nothing else in this world I did want.

The image in Archie's mind had shifted again. A kitchen with yellow cupboards, my eyes a blazing crimson.

Before Archie got out, he reached over and touched my shoulder. He met my eyes. "You _will_ do the right thing, Edy," he said earnestly. It was not a prediction—it was more like a plea. "You kill that guy... He's Chief Swan's only son, you know. His only family. Killing that kid would kill him, too. Focus on that, okay?"

I didn't answer, only turned back to face the road.

Archie got out of the car, and I felt his wariness as he and the others turned and melted into the woods.

I accelerated the car back toward town, heading toward the hospital where Carine worked. Or was I?

Archie was out of my range now, but I knew what he would be seeing. Visions flashing from light to dark and back like a strobe light, as the monster tried to take control of me—no, as _I_ tried to convince myself to give in to my desires, to justify doing as the creature I was yearned to do.

I tore back down the road toward Forks, where I knew either I could be Edythe Cullen, daughter of Carine Cullen, or Edythe Cullen the monster.

My choice.

* * *

A/N: Hey!

Normally, the first chapter is always the longest for a Twilight book, but this is actually about average...yeah, sorry about that. I guess I went for natural flow over trying to keep things concise.

Thanks for reading! If you have a chance, let me know what you thought, and see you next time! C:

Posted 5/7/18


	3. Open Book

A/N: Back again! And another ridiculously long chapter. (I'm grateful to those of you who enjoy these longer chapters—I've always been a writer who has a tendency to spend way, way too much time on things, so I've tried to push myself to be more concise. But this story has more constraints on it than the others so far, and I did think it better in the end to keep the flow feeling natural as possible, even if it means the story progresses more slowly. It's been a little fun experimenting with slightly different approaches.)

Thanks for reading, and for all your comments so far! Hope you enjoy, and see you at the end! :J

* * *

Chapter 2: Open Book

"Staring at the snow again, Edy?"

I didn't turn at the sound of the voice, interrupting the silence. I had heard his thoughts approaching long before I heard the soft sound of his light footsteps.

"Has it done anything interesting yet?" Tanvir continued. He reached up to brush some of the powdery snow from his strawberry blond hair, then flopped down beside me in the snow bank.

"No," I answered honestly.

He glanced at me, then turned his eyes back to the far distance, in the direction my eyes were fixed.

"Well, it _is_ beautiful," he allowed. His eyes flickered up to the clear dark sky above, expanding out in all directions, dotted with glimmering pinpricks of light, then dropped down to the snow, spreading out before us, perfectly untouched like white dunes of sand on a beach. "Incredibly beautiful," he added with feeling. "But I don't know I could sit here for six days straight staring at it."

His eyes slid toward me again, one pale eyebrow raised.

I'd been nearly a week here in the vast Denali wilderness, with our other vegetarian friends—vampires who had chosen, as we had, not to drink the blood of humans. Yet I had barely spoken to them, and I had yet to divulge the reason for my abrupt arrival. I could have read the silent question in Tanvir's eyes even if I hadn't also been able to read his mind.

 _What's wrong, Edy?_

Edy. Tanvir was the only other person in the world besides Archie who called me that. It had annoyed me for awhile, but now I didn't mind so much. It made them feel more like family.

Maybe that was why I was reluctant to explain myself. The shame still burned inside me, and I wasn't even sure I would have told the others back home, if Archie's sight hadn't revealed it and forced it from me.

And yet, in spite of the shame, in spite of the cool, fresh air I drew into my lungs with every breath, I was no better. The memory of the smell of his blood was still alive in my mind, a raging fire. I still longed for it, yearned for it with everything I was.

As I gazed out at the snow, and the majestic expanse of constellations, I saw no more of the beauty. I only saw a face—a plain, perfectly ordinary human face. The face of my greatest enemy.

I didn't reply, only kept staring out at the snow.

"If I'm annoying you," he said, and his voice was gentler than before, "just tell me, and I'll go away. Ivan and Kirill say I should just leave you to yourself. They're a bit more sensitive than I am."

"You're not annoying me," I said, still staring out at the snow. "I'm...sorry I'm being so rude."

Tanvir flashed a smile, then he frowned. _You're going home, aren't you?_ he thought.

"I don't know," I answered. "I haven't decided."

 _But you're not staying here._

I hesitated. Though he tried to keep his thoughts light, I felt the wistful tenor of them. Tanvir had never been bashful about expressing his feelings for me. In fact, his brothers often called him, not unfairly, a shameless flirt. When I'd arrived here so suddenly...

Tanvir was doing his best to hide his own disappointment, but it was there, all the same.

 _Is it me?_ he asked.

"Of course not," I answered.

He shook his head, smiling. "You don't have to lie, you know," he said aloud. "I know I make you uncomfortable."

I didn't reply, and he took that as affirmation. He sighed deeply, and I sensed his thoughts take a chagrined turn. He leaned back in the snow, fingers laced behind his head.

"You know, I'm really not used to rejection," he said conversationally.

"No, you're not," I agreed in a mutter, trying without success to block his thoughts as he sifted fleetingly through his thousands of successful conquests. He preferred human women—there were so many more to choose from, and with the added advantage of being soft and warm.

Tanvir and his brothers were very old vampires, older than Carine. Unlike Carine, who had chosen from the outset what she would be when this monstrous life was forced upon her, they had discovered their consciences slowly. In the end, it was their human lovers that had turned them against it—they really loved the women, as something more than something to be devoured.

In some ways, Tanvir, Ivan, and Kirill had a better handle on their instincts than even Carine. Despite the insanely close proximity they allowed themselves to be in with those who were once their prey, they did not make mistakes.

"So," said Tanvir, cutting his string of memories short. "Mind telling what this is all about?"

I looked down at the snow drift in front of me. Again, I felt the burn of shame. I couldn't tell him that simply being in a room with a particular human had nearly made me go berserk, like some fresh, blood-frenzied newborn. Made me daydream about all the ways to kill him, and that I couldn't shake the longing for that blood even now...

"Is it a guy?" he asked with a grin.

I nearly laughed. I almost wished it was. "No," I said. "Not the way you mean." However, my brief, almost-smile faded, and a sigh escaped me.

Tanvir shrugged, though I could sense his curiosity raging.

 _When you leave, are you going back to Carine?_ he asked. The same question as before.

"I don't know," I whispered again. "I don't see how I can."

And yet, where was there for me to go? There was nowhere that held any interest for me. What I wanted, or at least, what the beastly side of me wanted, was in Forks.

 _Where will you run to?_ he asked.

The question caught me off guard, phrased that way. Run. Running away? If I went somewhere other than Forks, was that what I was doing?

I almost laughed again—a bleak, hollow laugh. Of course that was exactly what I was doing. Fleeing from my enemy, my very own personal demon—but was that enemy the human boy, or this monstrous part of myself I could not seem to vanquish?

"You know," said Tanvir after a long pause, his face thoughtful. "I think you _will_ go back." His voice took on just a hint of his long-lost Russian accent. "No matter what it is...you will face it head-on. That's just part of who you are."

My gaze was still on the expanse of dark snow in the starlight, but for the first time, I could almost see it glittering, behind the vision of the face that would not leave my mind. I felt myself smile slightly. "Thank you, Tanvir," I said softly, sincerely.

"And," he added, "remember, if you change your mind—well, the door's always open."

I shook my head slightly, still smiling. "I think you would find me a very disappointing lover, Tanvir. I'm simply not up to your usual standards."

Tanvir smiled back. "I doubt that." However, after a moment he let his eyes drop away from mine.

With one graceful movement, like a cat rising from a nap, he slid to his feet.

"Well," he said. "In case you take off before I see you again...see you around, Edy. Hope you drop by again before too long."

"Goodbye, Tanvir," I answered softly, and when he left I could hear the soft whisper of his feet as he flew over the snow, moving so fast he left no footprints behind. As he left, some of the emotions he'd tried to keep to himself during our conversation leaked through. It hurt him, my rejection, though his feelings for me were by no means either pure or very deep. It did make me feel uncomfortable—I did not like hurting those I cared about.

I drew my legs up to my chest and rested my chin on my knees, staring up at the stars again, though I was already anxious to be on my way. Archie would already have seen me coming home, and he would be happy...and Carine and Earnest, too.

However, I gazed up at the stars for one more moment, trying to see them past the face that kept obstructing my view. Sky blue eyes seemed to be asking a silent question—but the mirror surfaces blocked me from hearing the thoughts behind the eyes, and I saw only my own face reflected in them. It was a blurry, indistinct shape—I couldn't yet see whether the face would be the one who had chosen this life, spent decades of denial resisting the lure of human blood, or the face of the monster. He seemed to silently ask me the question—if I went back, _would_ I be the monster? Would it mean his life would soon be abruptly cut short?

When I finally got slowly to my feet, there was no change. The face had not left the place behind my eyelids, forever silently questioning.

I turned. If I ran, I would be back to Carine's car in less than an hour. I realized I was anxious to see my family again—and be the Edythe who did not run away, who faced things head on. In spite of the silent, accusing eyes that watched me from behind my eyes.

* * *

"It's going to be okay," Archie muttered in a low voice, too low for the surrounding humans to hear. His eyes were unfocused, and Jessamine had a light hand on his arm to steer him as we headed as a close group into the rundown cafeteria.

Eleanor and Royal were out in front, looking ridiculously like bodyguards in the middle of hostile territory. Eleanor was warily scanning the crowds, though Royal, while he looked impressive, was internally more annoyed with all the trouble than feeling very protective.

I was irritated, too. "Of course it is," I grumbled back. If I hadn't been absolutely positive I could handle this moment, I would have stayed home, obviously. This was beyond over the top.

The morning had been fairly ordinary—it had snowed in the night, and Eleanor had taken full advantage of my distraction to bombard me with slush balls. When she'd failed to get a reaction, she'd turned on Jessamine next, who was downright dangerous with a bit of packed slush. But suddenly everyone was in business mode, forming a tight defensive ring around me like I might lose it any second.

"He isn't here yet," Archie muttered to me in an undertone. "But the way he'll come in...he's not going to be downwind if we sit in our usual spot."

I rolled my eyes. "Of course we're going to sit in our regular spot—cut it out already, it's going to be fine."

Archie blinked and came out of his reverie as he and Jessamine sat down at our table. He studied my face for a second, registering the slight scowl. Apparently he considered this a normal expression for me, because he nodded once and, seemingly reassured, thought, _I think you're right._

I turned my gaze away from him, too irritated by the surprise in the tone of his thoughts to look at him anymore. My gaze fell briefly on Jessamine and she smiled.

 _Bit aggravating, isn't it?_ she thought. No one had more experience with everyone watching her every move and afraid she was going to fly out of control than she did. I was starting to understand how she felt.

I turned away.

Today was a world different from last week. Tedium had been the primary concern on my mind, the wish I might sleep just to escape it. Today I was hyper-alert, my nerves taut as piano wires—I took in every sound, every sight, every movement of air that touched my skin. But most of all, I was aware of thoughts—what had been background noise before was now of vital importance to me. The only sense I refused to use was smell. I sat where I was, holding my breath.

I was on the lookout for thoughts of us—particularly me. After my display in Biology last week, I needed to find out the new student's reaction to me. Perhaps I could not see into his mind, but I _could_ see into the minds of anyone he confided in. He would want to tell someone about it, of that much I was sure. It made a good story— _My first day went pretty good, except there was this girl who sat next to me in Biology who wouldn't stop glaring at me. She was looking at me like she wanted to kill me. And then when I went to the office, she was there, trying to switch out of Biology. What was her problem? Does she always act like that?_

I sifted through the minds of the students, looking for something to that effect.

But there was nothing. Not a whisper. Most of the thoughts seemed to be no more than a repeat of last week.

He had definitely taken notice of my outrageous behavior—he would have to have been blind not to. And I was certain I had seen a flicker of fear in his eyes when I looked at him in the office.

Was that the answer? Did he already have some inkling, some suspicion, and was afraid if he blabbed around he might be in danger of reprisals from us? Or was he just the quiet type who preferred not to confide his problems in other people?

The second seemed more likely. The first seemed a little paranoid. It was ridiculous, to get worked up about the minor threat of one tiny, missing puzzle piece. But my compulsion to have the entire puzzle, a complete understanding of the dynamics in the room, refused to leave me alone.

The others were watching me, and they knew what I was listening for.

"So what's the situation?" Archie muttered at last. "What's the latest gossip wave on the Cullens?"

I shook my head slowly. "Apparently...he hasn't said anything to anyone."

This news brought some raised eyebrows. In our discussion of this new problem, we'd all concluded that the chance he wouldn't talk about the odd events to _someone_ was very slim.

"Maybe he didn't notice after all," Eleanor suggested. "Maybe you aren't as scary as you think you are." She grinned.

I rolled my eyes. Eleanor could think whatever she wanted, but this was unexpected to say the least. It seemed the only result of how I'd acted was that Mr. Cope had told a couple of other staff members about how I'd looked—throwing in his theory about the new kid making some kind of unwelcome, possibly lewd advances toward me. They hadn't believed him, and dismissed it as Mr. Cope's overactive imagination. He was in his office now, sulky and annoyed by the teachers' reception, but also beginning to wonder if he might have imagined the whole thing.

"He's coming in," Archie muttered suddenly, cutting into my thoughts. I felt myself go rigid. Archie added, glancing at me, "Try to look human."

"How's this for human?"

Eleanor produced an icy snowball she had been saving in her palm—of course it hadn't melted. She looked at Jessamine, but I saw the real direction of her thoughts, and so did Archie.

With a casual flick, she sent the ice block hurling like a meteor at Archie's face. He deflected it with two fingers, and it ricocheted to the other side of the cafeteria, too fast for human eyes to see. It shattered with a sharp crack against the brick wall. The already old, scuffed up brick had a new hair-crack just below the ceiling.

Heads closest to the noise turned to the corner to stare at the pile of ice, then searched for the culprit, but they didn't look more than a few tables away, and soon returned to their conversations.

"Very human," Royal muttered sourly.

"It's what they would do if they could," Eleanor said, with a wink at me.

I did my best to look a part of the banter, forcing an unnatural smile as I kept my eyes on them. However, all my attention was on the food line.

McKayla and Jeremy were talking to each other, and not paying particular attention to my intended target, but they were still aware of him. I focused on that part of their awareness, and I saw out of the corner of Jeremy's eyes when the boy glanced in our direction.

As soon as he did, he suddenly looked down again, and I saw the blood coloring his ears.

The image of the blood had me taking quick, shallow breathes, ready to quit breathing if any hint of his scent touched me. However, my mind was on something else, too. For once, I didn't need to read his thoughts to understand the sudden chagrin in his face.

 _I_ was here. His worst enemy, who despised him. Maybe he didn't understand the true danger consciously, but he instinctively drew back from my unspoken hostility.

"What's wrong with Beau?" McKayla asked Jeremy, and I felt her concern.

For some reason I could not explain, I felt a flicker of annoyance. There was really nothing wrong with McKayla—unlike Jeremy, she bore no secret derision or ill will toward the new student. But somehow the tone of her thoughts was still irritating. There was a possessive tint to them, like she'd already staked her claim on the new guy.

McKayla had gotten to introduce herself to Beau following that Biology class last week, and now, even as she was carrying on another conversation, she often went over the moment in her mind again with an almost loving caress. She was absolutely delighted with my inexplicably rude behavior, it had played very nicely into her plans. She liked the contrast it must have made—bombshell goddess Edythe Cullen, who looked down on lesser mortal like dirt on her shoes, versus nice, down-to-earth girls like McKayla Newton.

It was, of course, completely ridiculous to be irked by the elaborate fantasies she was already forming in her mind. It was like I was forming some kind of strange sense of possessiveness myself—like that infernal hour of torture that would be forever seared into my mind had formed some kind of invisible bond between us, the kind that could only be the result of the severest trauma. It was especially ridiculous, considering the new student was completely oblivious to it. He was still a complete and utter stranger to me—more a stranger than anyone else I had ever met, with his hidden, veiled thoughts, and his continual refusal to divulge them aloud. Still, for some indefinable reason, the girl continued to grate on my nerves.

I switched to watching him through Jeremy's eyes, looking for his reaction. However, before he could say anything, the boy spoke up to answer McKayla's question.

"Nothing," he said. He had a low voice, quiet, though I heard it with perfect clarity even across the length of the cafeteria. Wordlessly, he took a soda bottle as he moved to catch up with the end of the line.

"Aren't you hungry?" Jeremy asked.

"Actually," he muttered, "I feel a little sick."

Jeremy made a quick assessment of the truth of this, then shuffled back a few steps to get out of puke-range, just in case.

It was easy to guess the source of his sudden ill-health. I felt my stomach twist uncomfortably.

Eleanor caught my eye, and grinned a little. _You don't look so good, girl. If vampires could vomit, I don't think I'd be sitting by you right now._

The group went to sit down at one of the first tables in the room—not downwind, just as Archie had promised.

Archie elbowed me in the side. _He's going to look soon. Act human._

I clenched my teeth behind my forced smile.

"Relax," Eleanor said, shrugging, keeping her voice too low for the humans to hear. "Let's say it goes bad, you kill him—he's just one human. That's hardly the end of the world. Eternity is a long time to wallow in guilt."

I tensed and didn't answer. Eleanor would know all about that.

Eleanor might have said something else, but Archie suddenly grinned and, with a quick flick of his fingers, flung a piece of ice he'd been hiding in his palm right in Eleanor's unsuspecting face.

"You let down your guard," he explained with a shrug. "Too bad."

Eleanor's stunned look turned to a fierce grin. "You asked for it." she leaned across the table, flicking her long hair, still covered in a mixture of ice and water from the slush fight with Jessamine, in Archie's direction.

Royal leaned back to avoid the deluge, nose wrinkled, while Archie leaned back too, laughing.

I found myself laughing, too—I saw in Archie's head how he'd staged the moment, just as Beau Swan turned his head in our direction, so he'd see us looking happy and mirthful, as if we were the most normal high school kids in the world.

Archie was still grinning and leaning away— _he_ was still watching us.

 _...And he's right back to staring at Edythe Cullen again,_ someone thought, catching my attention.

Before I had time to think, I automatically turned at my name—but my eyes, instead of finding the source of the thought, slid to the face beside it, and a pair of pale blue eyes.

Our eyes met for a fraction of a second, but at the same moment he casually turned away from me, toward Jeremy, as though he hadn't been looking in our direction at all.

I knew I should look away, especially since Jeremy was completely aware of the direction of my stare, but I couldn't. I had been exercising all my self-control not to look at him, but now that I saw him, I couldn't seem to tear my eyes away.

I focused on his mind, trying to pierce through whatever was blocking the sound of his thoughts. But there was nothing—only silence.

"Edythe Cullen is staring at you," Jeremy noted, glancing over his shoulder back at me. There was a flicker of jealousy in his thoughts, followed by dismissal. _Sure, everyone is interested in the new guy now—even the Cullens. But that'll only last so long._

"She doesn't look angry, does she?" he asked in a mutter.

I felt a thrill mingled with dread—here was the conversation I'd been hoping to catch in someone's thoughts. And I would be here to hear the first time he told anyone, first-hand. I listened carefully.

"No," Jeremy answered, confusion in his thoughts. Then it quickly turned to amusement. "What did you do, ask her out?" _What an idiot. But, better you get over yourself now, while you've still got a bit of dignity left._

"No!" he said vehemently. "I've never even talked to her." He hesitated. Then, keeping his voice so low the others sitting right at the table probably couldn't have caught it, he added, "I just...don't think she likes me very much." He fidgeted uncomfortably as though he could feel my gaze fastened unblinkingly to the back of his head as I focused again to try to penetrate his mind, but I heard nothing.

"The Cullens don't like anybody," Jeremy reassured him. Then he corrected himself, "Well, they don't notice anybody enough to like them." He could see me from where he sat. He was torn between annoyance at my mystifying attention to such an ordinary guy, and the natural excitement most in Forks were susceptible to when something unusual and interesting seemed to be going on.

"But she's still staring at you," Jeremy informed him.

"Stop looking at her," he grumbled.

Jeremy snickered, but did as he was asked.

And that seemed to be the end of the conversation. McKayla jumped in with plans for a snowball fight, and it didn't seem the subject would come up again.

I found myself simultaneously dismayed and relieved. If I had been expecting to glean some information about the boy's real thoughts on the incident, it had turned out to be more than a little disappointing. He was going to continue to keep his secrets after all. But, it was a relief in that, if this was all he had divulged about it, it didn't seem we needed to worry too much about his spreading it around. And based on the conversation, it seemed unlikely he had any inkling of the supernatural about us or the true nature of what had just about occurred in that Biology class.

I had just been being paranoid—of course. He was just an ordinary human. To him, it was just a slightly strange, unsettling incident, especially for a first day. Some girl he didn't know acting like she hated his guts. Unusual, but nothing to get too freaked out over.

The rest of the lunch hour he did not look in our direction again. I got the sense that he wanted to—every so often his body would turn slightly in my direction, his head too, but then he would tense and turn back to the table. Seemingly he deliberately chose not to. No doubt he was curious to see if I had taken up glaring at him again, but at the same time, afraid to find out. Even though he didn't seem to have any conscious fear of me physically, he seemed to be the quiet, sensitive type, who did not shake off hostile encounters very easily, even if they were under bewildering circumstances with total strangers.

As the thoughts of the others turned away from him—McKayla was still talking animatedly about the snowball fight she was planning, apparently not noticing how the sound of the precipitation against the roof had turned to the pattering of rain—I tuned them out, still staring at him, still trying to somehow force my way into his mind. But of course, all my efforts were in vain.

When the lunch period ended, and the humans began filing out, I remained in my seat. The others didn't move either—waiting to see what I would do.

I had two choices. Go to class, sit beside him and try to get through the hour—or tell myself I'd had enough for one day and skive off early.

"I... _think_ it's okay," Archie said at last. "Your mind's pretty set. I _think_ you can make it through."

He sounded more than a little uncertain. He knew only too well how the best of intentions could change in a moment.

"I wouldn't push it," Jessamine cautioned, her face grim. "It would be better to take it slow." Although she was trying very hard not to be, I could tell she was happy she was no longer the center of everyone's concern, the weakest link. That was me now.

"What's the big deal?" Eleanor said bracingly. "Either she'll kill him or she won't. Might as well get it over with either way, I say."

Royal grumbled. "And have to move again," he said with distaste. He glowered at me for my inconvenient problem's possible effect on his personal comfort.

For a moment I sat there, torn. Ironically it was Eleanor's blasé comment that almost had me ready to head back to my car to spend the class. Of course it was a big deal. If I slipped up, then a life would be lost, put to an end. Maybe a lot of lives, if there were witnesses. Maybe Jessamine was right, maybe I had pushed myself enough for today. To intentionally place myself in the path of temptation, for absolutely no reason at all than to test my strength, because of some pointless macho desire to face this challenge head on—wouldn't that be wrong?

And yet, as I sat there, I felt my mind unconsciously reaching, flitting from one mind to the next as I sought out someone who was with him, so I could see what he was up to, if he was saying anything that would help me ferret out the secrets of his irritatingly unfathomable mind. I knew what I wanted to do—irresponsible as it might be. All my thoughts had been racing in one direction for the last week, day by day, hour by hour, minute by minute—and now that I was here, all I wanted was to go to my Biology class and, for the first time, speak to my enemy. And, even more—I felt a shiver of some emotion I could not identify down my spine—for the first time, hear _him_ speak to _me._

"No, I really think it will be okay," Archie said, with more assurance this time. "It's firming up. I don't think anything bad will happen if she goes. I'm ninety-three percent sure, anyway." Archie was looking at me with an odd, curious expression. Wondering what had changed in my mind to make his vision more secure.

I wasn't sure myself. Was I just looking to sate my curiosity about his silent mind? Looking for any chance to finally ask some of my own questions I had been wanting to ask from the beginning? Or now that Tanvir had put words to what I did not want to be—someone who ran away rather than faced things proudly straight on—was I simply acting in defiance of it?

In that moment, it didn't matter. I had made up my mind.

I pushed back from the table. "See you later," I said abruptly. "I'm going to class." Slinging my bag over my shoulder I turned and walked away without a backward glance, though I still felt their thoughts trailing after me. Eleanor's congratulations, Royal's self-absorbed annoyance, Jessamine's disapproval. And of course, Archie's continued wariness.

When I reached the door of the classroom, I stopped. I drew in one last deep breath, then held it firmly in my lungs as I stepped into the small, warm space.

It seemed I wasn't late. Mrs. Banner was still setting up for today's lab as I entered. My eyes automatically flickered to my table—and of course he was there.

His eyes were downcast, head resting on one hand as he scribbled something on his notebook. As I passed, I glanced down at the drawing, curious—but it was no more than doodles, a series of jagged lines angling out in a pattern. It wasn't going to get me any closer to deciphering his enigmatic thoughts.

I pulled my chair back a little more roughly than usual, letting the legs scrape along the linoleum to alert him to my arrival.

He didn't look up, or make any sign he noticed me there, but for a slight tensing of his shoulders. Just like in the cafeteria, he seemed to be deliberately ignoring me. Maybe he'd even started the drawing just to give himself something to keep his eyes on when I came in, as he had expected I would, having known of my sudden return to school from lunch.

I was beginning to realize I must have unnerved him far more than he was letting on. Shy, sensitive—those were traits I tentatively attributed to his invisible mind. If I was going to get a handle on how he thought, and complete my puzzle, I had to start somewhere. He was sensitive to others' hostility, more than most. Hostility made him uneasy, uncomfortable.

In any case, there was nothing for it but to remedy that somewhat less-than-ideal first impression. That should be simple enough—humans' memories were easily overridden with the inception of new, conflicting information. And I wouldn't be able to ask any questions if he wasn't speaking to me.

"Hello," I said, in a quiet voice I used when I wanted to put humans at ease. I made my mouth form a perfect, polite smile—without showing my teeth.

His eyes flashed up, and his mouth actually fell open a little in shock.

I continued, "My name is Edythe Cullen. I didn't have a chance to introduce myself last week. You must be Beau Swan."

He gaped at me, completely stupefied. I tried to imagine the thoughts going through his mind. Was the person he was sitting next to bipolar? Was she on psyche medication? Or had the whole thing just been in his imagination, brought on by first-day jitters?

I noticed color beginning to creep up his face, but I kept my eyes fastened to his, not looking away even for a moment.

"H-How do you know my name?" he managed to get out at last.

It was a strange response to my introduction, but then, he had more than adequate excuse if his brain wasn't yet firing on all cylinders.

I laughed a little. "Oh, I think everyone knows your name. The whole town's been waiting for you to arrive."

This was obviously not welcome information, and his startled look turned to a distinct frown.

There was another bit of information about the workings of his mind to be gleaned here—he did not like attention. Being shy and sensitive, that made sense. Attention was a threat. Even my attention now seemed to be giving him some anxiety—though likely there were additional reasons for that. I doubted these few polite words had yet erased my murderous glare from his memory.

I felt myself beginning to relax a little. Figuring out how his mind worked was not going to be as big of a challenge as I anticipated.

"No," he began, still looking uncertain. "I meant, why did you call me Beau?"

My smile shrank slightly. He was being incomprehensible again. Hadn't he told _everyone_ he had spoken to yesterday, repeatedly, what name he liked better?

"Do you prefer Beaufort?" I asked.

" _Absolutely_ not," he said adamantly. He hesitated. "But I think Charlie—I mean, my dad—must call me that behind my back—that's what everyone here seemed to know me as."

I sat there for a second, stunned. What I had taken for a lack of social grace or temporary mental obstruction brought on by shock was actually a keenness I had not been careful enough to foresee. If I hadn't been listening to the thoughts of all the others that first day, I would have addressed him by his full name first, as the others had. He had immediately, instinctively picked up on the difference.

"Oh," I said, a little lamely.

He stared back at me for a second, then turned away, color rising in his face again—I had to look away quickly, and I was careful not to breathe.

My thoughts continued to swirl around the figure sitting next to me, even as Mrs. Banner began class and we both stared up at the front.

What was he thinking? What suspicions was he forming? Was he forming any at all?

It was so maddening—this sense that I couldn't know, that I couldn't understand. It was like being blind.

However, I was temporarily distracted from my burning questions by another problem.

Our last exchange had used up the very last bit of my air. If I was going to talk again, I'd have to take in more—which could be very dangerous.

However, Mrs. Banner had us doing a lab today. Doing it without speaking would be difficult, especially without appearing as though I'd reverted back to the inexplicable hostility from that first day. I had to talk, just to hold onto the little progress I'd made today to setting his mind at ease.

Casually as I could, I leaned away from him, until my head was almost out in the aisle. Bracing myself and locking my muscles in place, I took one silent breath, drawing the air through my mouth alone.

I was right to have been cautious. Even without my sense of smell, I could still taste the scent of him on my tongue. My throat was on fire as the craving reignited in my stomach, as strong as before.

My entire body was rigid, perfectly still. However, as I cut off my lungs once again, I thought it wasn't quite as bad.

The burning, raging desire for his blood wasn't weaker per say, but only breathing through my mouth helped, as did being mentally prepared for the onslaught.

I slowly leaned back fully into my chair, and in a moment I was—almost—completely composed again.

Mrs. Banner was finished explaining the lab, and she called, "Get started."

I forced myself to turn back to him.

"Ladies, first, partner?" I said.

I was sure my delivery of the friendly, casual line was flawlessly polite, and my smile looked completely normal, but as he looked up from his desk at me, his face went blank. He gaped at me again in open astonishment, like he had when I had first spoken to him. Was I wrong? Was there something off in my expression?

Finally, he came to life. "Uh, sure, go ahead," he said.

Splotches of color were spreading across his face like flower petals, and I had to look away. I seized the microscope and pulled it with a little too much force to my side of the table, as though for some reason overly eager to get started on the inane lab. I needed something to distract myself—not that this was likely to be very distracting.

I barely glanced at the first slide.

"Prophase," I said. I quickly switched out the slide for the next, then stopped, and realized in my deliberate, intent focus, I was being a bit rude. "Or did you want to check?" My voice didn't come out like I meant it to—I wanted to sound polite again, putting him at ease. Instead, it came out more like a challenge. Daring him to question my ability to identify the simple slide correctly. As though, being my enemy, of course he should hope to catch me making a mistake.

Of course, he still had no idea we were supposed to enemies, and he blinked, looking startled. "Uh, no, I'm good."

I wrote _Prophase_ neatly on the worksheet.

Another trait—he backed down from confrontational situations, rather than rise to the bait. He wasn't the pompous type who tried to bluff about knowing things he didn't know just to get one up on someone.

I glanced at the second slide, then wrote _Anaphase_ on the next line. I was working quickly—if we got the lab finished early, that might give us a chance to talk. And for me to finally ask a few of the probing questions I had been storing up.

I slid the next slide into place.

 _...And there Edythe Cullen goes again, doing the entire lab herself. I better intervene or our new student isn't going to learn a thing._

"Miss Cullen?"

"Yes, Mrs. Banner?" I answered politely, at the same time carefully sliding the microscope toward the other side of the table.

"Perhaps you should let Mr. Swan have an opportunity to learn?" she suggested.

"Of course, Mrs. Banner."

I turned toward him, waiting, though I mentally sighed. This could take awhile. The others in the class kept checking their slides again and again, confusion coloring their thoughts. McKayla was continually switching them in and out—though in fairness, part of the problem may have been her concentration was divided between the lab and watching us with mingled frustration and apprehension.

I watched the side of his face with total absorption. He seemed tense under my scrutiny, though fortunately his face didn't go red again this time. He carefully bent his head to the microscope.

"Metaphase," he said after a second. His voice was sure.

I was startled by this quick pronouncement, and as he started to remove the slide I said, "Do you mind if I look?" I reached out automatically without thinking, catching his hand.

The moment my skin touched his, he jerked away like he'd been stung.

I withdrew my hand quickly, mortified—I should have known better. Our hard, ice-cold skin was naturally repulsive to humans. His reaction was natural, especially if, as I suspected, his subconscious was aware of the predator I was, even if he himself wasn't. However, I couldn't quite suppress the irrational sense of hurt.

For me, the touch had been an odd, jarring experience. Like an electric jolt up my arm. And the sudden heat—it felt like I must have sucked all the heat from his entire arm and drawn it into mine.

"I'm sorry," I said softly. I pulled the microscope toward me and examined the slide to give myself something to look at.

"Metaphase," I agreed after a moment, pushing the microscope back in his direction.

However, as he went to exchange the slides, he fumbled them, and the new slide fell on the table and the metaphase slide tumbled toward the floor, though I caught it before it could touch the ground.

"Ugh," he said. "Sorry."

"Well," I said, smiling, "the last is no mystery, regardless." Another trait—he wasn't particularly well coordinated. But this worked out fine, I was eager to be done with the simple, unproductive lab.

I wrote in _Metaphase_ and _Telophase_ on the last two lines, then set the sheet aside.

He was looking down now, at his desk.

I watched him, studying his profile. I sensed McKayla get distracted from the lab again, her eyes on us.

 _Oh, so_ now _she's going to act all nice. What game is she playing? Look at Beau, he's scared stiff of her...or, he can't be smitten already, can he? She's confusing him. She is_ so _horrible, I wish she would have stayed wherever she went, I bet she's toying with him on purpose._

It was a little funny, how many girls had fixated on this boy. To me, he seemed remarkably ordinary. And my first impression that he looked gawky and clumsy had turned out to be dead on. So what did so many of the girls at the school—there were more than just McKayla and Erica, who were the most aggressive—see in him? I could only suppose it was because he was new, something different and exciting. Eventually that would wear off, but for now he was the center of attention.

And yet...whenever I looked at his face, I found it hard to look away. I couldn't help but stare into his wide, sky blue eyes that it seemed like I should be able to see straight through, but hid the secrets of his thoughts like the perfect mirror of a still mountain lake. I couldn't help but study even the faintest muscle twitch in his pale face, trying to decipher those irritatingly hidden thoughts.

His eyes flickered, and suddenly he was looking straight into mine. I didn't look away—still trying to force my way into the mind behind the eyes.

"Did you get contacts?" he asked abruptly.

I blinked. I didn't know how to answer such a question out of the blue. "No." The idea of ever needing to improve _my_ eyesight was a joke.

"Oh," he said, glancing down again. "I thought there was something different about your eyes."

I froze. Then, trying to maintain a casual front, I shrugged, my eyes dropping as I turned away, my gaze wandering instead to the teacher, who had begun to do her rounds.

There it was—another penetrating observation I had failed to anticipate. Of course there was something different about my eyes—the last time my eyes had been flat black with thirst. But before coming back to school, I'd glutted myself on the blood of animals until I felt almost bloated, in preparation for this day, though I knew it would only have a marginal effect. At the moment my eyes were a light gold, the color they were when I was well-fed.

No one had ever noticed this oddity about us—no one had ever looked closely enough _to_ notice. Maybe they instinctively shied away, not wanting to understand. But he had stared right into the pitch black depths of my murderous eyes—of course it would seem obvious to him.

I cursed myself—if I had known what the question was leading to, I could have simply answered yes. But I had been blindsided. I was going to have to be more careful, on the lookout for such traps.

Mrs. Banner came to our table then. She looked over our shoulders to glance at the completed lab, then looked more closely to check the answers.

"So, Edythe..." Mrs. Banner began. I wouldn't have needed to hear her thoughts to know what she was about to say.

"Beau identified half of the slides," I said, beating her to the punch.

Mrs. Banner was doubtful. _I'll bet she's just saying that. This is a difficult lab, I took it from the advanced course. Unless..._

She turned her attention to Beau. "Have you done this lab before?"

He shrugged. "Not with onion root."

"White fish blastula?"

"Yeah."

Mrs. Banner nodded. "Were you in an advanced placement program in Phoenix?"

He seemed a little embarrassed. "Yes."

This settled the mystery for Mrs. Banner. "Well," she said, "I guess it's good you two are lab partners." As she moved away, she added under her breath, "So the others have a chance to learn something."

I stared back at him, stunned yet again. He probably could have identified all the slides as easily as I did—but he hadn't let on in the slightest. How condescending I had probably seemed, and he'd just sat there and taken it quietly.

So, he was smart—but he didn't feel the compulsion to prove it. He was intelligent in a quiet, humble way.

His eyes had dropped to his notebook again, making more jagged line patterns. He seemed determined to ignore me.

"It's too bad about the snow, isn't it?" I said conversationally. The weather seemed a safe enough conversation starter.

He looked up and eyed me warily, as though he suspected some ulterior motive behind my everyday question. Of course, he was right to be suspicious—I decided I would start out easy, then work slowly into the nosy, more personal questions I was burning to know about. Like boiling a frog—you started the heat out light, then turned it up slowly to keep the frog from making a break for it.

"Not really," he said honestly.

I had suspected this for a little while now, but I wanted to confirm it.

"You don't like the cold," I said.

"Or the wet."

I gazed back at him. "Forks must be a difficult place for you to live," I noted. Rain and cold were a part of life here. It seemed a strange choice. A part of me wondered wistfully what things would be like now if only he hadn't chosen to come to this town. If only he had stayed away, my throat wouldn't be searing now, I wouldn't be feeling like I was about to be torn in two by my desire to be the good daughter Carine could be proud of, and the desire to sink my teeth into his skin...

I cut that thought off right where it was.

"You have no idea," he said in a low voice, frowning, oblivious to my internal struggle.

"Why did you come here, then?" It slipped out more as a demand than a polite question. Almost accusing.

He hesitated, seeming to shrink back a little from my intensity.

"It's...complicated," he said hesitantly.

"I think I can keep up," I pressed. Something had suddenly occurred to me—he obviously didn't like confrontation, shrank away from it instinctively. Maybe I could use that to my advantage. If I was pushy enough, aggressive enough, he might give in just to placate me.

He was silent for a long minute, making me wonder if I had somehow slipped up in my reasoning. Then he glanced up, meeting my eyes, and he answered.

"My mother got remarried."

I hadn't realized I was so tense waiting for his answer until I felt myself relax slightly.

"That doesn't sound so complex," I said, and my voice was softer than before, sympathetic. This time the change in tone was automatic, rather than a ploy to try to extract more information. His open answer seemed to make him less of a challenge, a puzzle to solve, and more of a person. A person with worries and struggles like everyone else. "When did that happen?"

"Last September," he said, a little heavily.

My desire to know more was burning more strongly than before. I was staring at him, fascinated. It suddenly occurred to me that I'd forgotten about the burning in my throat for almost a whole half-minute.

"And you don't like him," I guessed.

"No, Phil is fine." He smiled, almost fondly. "A little young, maybe, but he's a good guy."

I pursed my lips, wary. Again, the conversation was going in a direction I couldn't predict. It was like every time he said something, he would set up my expectations for it to follow with something else, and then he would say something completely different that made mincemeat of my theories. I was like a frustrated scientist, trying to construct a thousand tiny formulas about the movement of the stars based on a flawed model, all the time sensing I was missing something vitally important.

"Why didn't you stay with them?" I asked. It was the nosy question of a prying gossip, but I was too absorbed to care.

He stared back at me with confusion, and still a touch of suspicion. Trying to figure out what could possibly have me so interested.

"Phil travels most of the time. He plays ball for a living." He half smiled, maybe at the novelty of the idea of someone who actually lived what many considered a dream job.

I found myself automatically smiling back. "Have I heard of him?"

"Probably not. He doesn't play _well_. Just minor league. He moves around a lot."

Ah. It was starting to come together now. "And your mother sent you here so that she could could travel with him."

This got more of a response than anything I'd said so far.

He had been sitting with slightly hunched shoulders, but suddenly he straightened. Almost—defiant.

"No," he said shortly, "she didn't. I sent myself."

I stared at him, my eyebrows pushing together. I could not seem to predict one thing he would say. What had triggered this response, when he had been so meek and passive before? Was it that I had seemed to suggest some weakness, in the implication he hadn't had a choice? Or had he taken my comment as an implied insult to his mother?

"I don't understand," I said at last, speaking softly so he wouldn't pick up on the petulance.

He sighed suddenly, as though he was beginning to regret having allowed himself to be drawn into this conversation. But as he caught my eyes, seeing me waiting for an answer, he gave in.

"She stayed with me at first, but she missed him. It made her unhappy...so I decided it was time to spend some quality time with Charlie."

The corners of his mouth moved, as though he were trying to smile but couldn't quiet manage it. His tone was gloomy.

"But now you're unhappy," I said.

He didn't deny it. "And?" Just a touch of defiance once again slipped into his tone.

I shrugged my shoulders and tried to make my voice light, but my eyes were still riveted to his face. "That doesn't seem fair."

He laughed, a short, incredulous sound. "Haven't you heard? Life isn't fair."

"I believe I _have_ heard that somewhere before," I said dryly. If only he knew the irony.

There was a short pause. "So," he said at last, "that's it." He sounded ready to be done with the conversation.

But I wasn't ready to be done. I tilted my head slowly to the side, and then I said, slowly, "You put on a good show. But I'd be willing to bet that you're suffering more than you let anyone see."

He looked away. He seemed irritated again, though he shrugged and his tone was nonchalant as he answered, "I repeat...And?"

I took a wealth of information away from this exchange. It said a lot that he would move away from his preferred home to a climate he found so detestable of his own initiative, simply for his mother's sake. However, it said even more that he had kept it to himself all this time. Such a sacrifice, and he hadn't wanted anyone to know about it? He had told me because I had pressed him into it, but he was already looking as though he wished he could take it back. Did he hide what he was going through because to him, complaint equaled some betrayal of his mother? Or was it because he didn't want anyone's pity?

I was afraid he would take the opportunity to end the exchange, so I answered, "I don't entirely understand you, that's all."

He looked nonplussed. "Why would you want to?"

"That's a very good question," I murmured, more to myself than to him. I stared at him hard, trying to will myself to understand—to _see_. I'd always thought of myself as intuitive, perceptive. But it was slowly becoming clear that without my extra hearing, I was deaf and blind, stumbling around in the dark. All my conjectures about him had all turned out to be almost entirely wrong. Picking out traits here and there didn't seem to put me very close to understanding—there was a depth to them, a complexity that always seemed to complicate everything that seemed like it ought to be perfectly straight-forward.

He fidgeted under my intense stare, clearly uncomfortable, then looked away, back to the blackboard.

I sighed. The frustration was almost unbearable. I kept thinking I'd gleaned something important, only to have it slip away again.

To my surprise, his eyes returned to me. "I'm sorry," he said, eyebrows furrowing. "Did I...Am I annoying you?"

Again, he took me by surprise. But I understood. He had certainly not forgotten our last Biology class, nor was he likely to. He perceived my frustration as a return to the hostility of before, and he was anxious to clear the air. Even having done nothing wrong, he was quick to apologize. He didn't let a personal sense of injury or pride keep him from reconciling with other people.

Technically, we were enemies—he was my worst nightmare and I was his, even if he didn't know it. But I realized I didn't want him to think of me that way. As some kind of threat, or someone who, for some inexplicable reason, hated his guts.

I smiled a little. "No, if anything, I'm annoyed with myself."

He frowned. "Why?"

Maybe it was because he had been honest with me, or maybe because I wanted to say something personal to prove I wasn't fishing for information to turn against him later, I said honestly, "Reading people...it usually comes very easily to me. But I can't—I guess I don't know quite what to make of you."

Suddenly, inexplicably, he grinned.

I stared back at him, bewildered. Considering I had just admitted to weakness—something he ought to realize I didn't do often—this didn't seem to be the appropriate reaction. But maybe I had completely misread him. Maybe he was completely aware of the fact we were born mortal enemies, and was now taking delight in the fact he finally seemed to have won one over on me. Or at least he was vindictive enough over the incident last time to rejoice in my frustration.

I tried my best to keep my voice mild as I said, "Is that funny?"

He fought the grin down to just a smile. "More...unexpected. My mom always calls me her open book. According to her, you can all but read my thoughts printing out across my forehead."

I wondered if I had ever seen him really smile before. There was a bit of a sparkle in his eye as he spoke about his mother. A fond, almost soft look.

It suddenly occurred to me that, maybe, with the amusement, his mental defenses might be momentarily down. Maybe whatever shield he had might be linked to that.

It was a long shot, but if that was it, I might not get another chance. I stared at him, suddenly concentrating all my focus on hearing that voice in his mind—even if it was just a word, a glimpse of an image, or a trace of an emotion.

Nothing. Not a whisper.

He was staring back at me like I was crazy, so I quickly smiled again, relaxed. "I suppose I've gotten overconfident," I said lightly.

His brow creased, perplexed, like he was trying to figure out what to make of me. "Um, sorry?"

I only laughed, trying to set him at ease despite what must seem incredibly peculiar behavior.

Mrs. Banner called the class to order then, and Beau turned to face the front at once, and he seemed relieved to finally escape me.

I watched him for a second longer, then turned to face the front, too.

This was a foolish risk I was taking.

I had used up all the air I had in the conversation. So, gripping the table hard, I leaned out as far into the aisle as I dared without looking conspicuous, then drew in another breath through my mouth. Someone opened their book at another table at the wrong moment, so the airflow sent a particularly concentrated wave of his scent into my mouth—I nearly gagged as my throat exploded in flames. The monster—who was really me, overwhelmed by the temptation of this boy's obscenely appealing blood—perked up.

Jessamine had been right, this was stupid. Why was I torturing myself like this? And it wasn't just about me and my family. It seemed so wrong that I was capable of putting his life in danger too—and for what? Just to satisfy my morbid curiosity? To soothe my obsessive compulsive issues to have every piece of the puzzle slotted into place?

My hands continued to grip the table, and I tried to lean as far from him as possible, as the two monsters continued to war inside me—the monster that longed for the blood, and the monster that seemed willing to set him in danger of the other monster for selfish, paltry reasons.

The moment the bell sounded, I fled from the classroom, moving a little too fast—likely undoing any impression of politeness I'd halfway constructed in the course of the hour. The moment I was outside, I gasped at the clean, wet air like I was dying. I rushed as fast as I dared away from where I knew he was, heading onto Spanish, feeling like I was being chased.

Eleanor was waiting for me outside the door of our Spanish class. She took in the wild look on my face and tensed.

 _What happened?_

"Nobody died," I answered shortly.

She nodded. _That's something. When I saw Archie ditching there at the end, I thought..._

As we headed into the classroom, I saw the memory from moments ago, seen through the open door of Eleanor's last class—Archie walking briskly across the grounds in the direction of the science building, face blank and solemn.

A flood of horror shot through me, and I slumped as we sat down. "I didn't realize it was that close," I whispered.

Eleanor shrugged. _Wouldn't worry about it. Nothing happened, right?_

"Not this time," I said in a low voice.

 _Maybe it will get easier._

I didn't reply.

 _Or maybe you'll kill him._ She shrugged again. _You wouldn't be the first one to mess up. It's not like anyone would judge you too harshly. Sometimes, you just can't help it... Honestly, I'm sort of amazed you've lasted this long._

Again, I didn't answer her. I was quietly revolted—revolted by her acceptance of that outcome, as though it were inevitable. And did she really think that was my greatest fear if I murdered him to sate my appetite? Being judged?

 _Sometimes the blood just smells too good,_ she continued reasonably. _It's happened to me twice, you know. The first time was when I was still kind of new, it just smelled a little bit sweeter than any other blood. But the second time..._

The scene in her head suddenly changed, speeding back in time to a half century before, to a back country lane at dusk.

A middle-aged man was relaxing against an apple tree in a nearby orchard, his head covered in a straw hat, back resting against the bark. The harvest was over, and the rejected fruits lay scattered about the ground, leaking their fragrance into the air through their bruised skins. The smells of a freshly mowed field of hay also rose in the air, mingling with the heavy aroma of the fruit. Eleanor strolled casually up the lane, just on an errand. The sky was purple overheard, orange over the trees in the west.

It would have been a normal evening like any other, had not the wind suddenly changed, and the light breeze rattled the leaves of the trees, sending the man's scent curling across the lane, right into Eleanor's face...

 _I didn't last half a second,_ sighed Eleanor. _I didn't even think about resisting._

The memory continued then—it was a memory of failure, of loss of control, but as Eleanor's blurred shape disappeared from the lane, and the man looked up, startled, his hat falling off amidst the fruit in surprise, there was just a hint of euphoria, too. The _taste_ of a blood like no other—

I was suddenly on my feet, my chair shoved back. I wanted to clutch my hands to my head and shut my eyes, to block out the images—images and feelings of the taste of the exquisite blood in my mouth.

Señor Goff blinked, startled at my sudden movement. "Estás bien, Edythe?" he asked. I could see my own face in his mind, and I knew I looked far from well.

"Perdone," I muttered as I quickly turned and darted for the door.

"Eleanor—por favor, puedas ayudar a tu hermana?" he asked, gesturing after me.

"Sure," she answered, and in a moment she was right behind me.

I kept walking without looking back until I was to the far side of the building. At last she caught me and put a hand on my shoulder.

I struck her hand away with such force it would have shattered the bones of a human hand—and the bones in the arm attached to it.

"Sorry, Edythe," she said, and she was really apologetic.

I drew in deep gasps of air, trying to clear the images from my mind, the memory of the taste in my mouth—paled as it did in comparison with the temptation I faced myself.

She was trying not to think of the scent and flavor of her memory, but didn't entirely succeed. "Is it...as bad as that was?" she asked finally.

"Worse," I said through gritted teeth. "So much worse."

She was silent for a long moment.

 _You know, Edythe...I know you don't want to hear this, but...maybe..._

"No," I snapped, a little louder than I meant. "No, don't even think it. Go back to class. I want to be alone."

She turned without another word, and returned back down the hall. She would give Mr. Goff some excuse, I didn't care what. All I knew was that I had to get out of here. Now.

I retreated to my car to wait out the rest of the school day. Hiding again.

I probably should have spent the time making decisions or bolstering my resolve—but I couldn't seem to think clearly. Instead, my concentration wandered automatically, sifting through the babble of thoughts. I immediately sensed the familiar voices, Archie, Royal, Jessamine—but I went right on past them until I found Jeremy, whose mind was becoming more and more familiar. But Jeremy wasn't with the one I was looking for, and I searched around until I found McKayla. The two of them were in Gym class together.

She was feeling down, anxious, and from her rapid stream of internal debating it didn't take long to find the source.

 _...I've never seen Edythe Cullen say more than a word or two to anyone. What is with her? She's been acting so weird around Beau. I couldn't stand the way she was looking at him. Like she couldn't decide if she was totally fascinated or wanted to spit in his face. When I asked him about it, he just said, 'I wonder what was with her last Monday.' That doesn't sound like he was all that interested. Maybe that's it. Maybe she likes him, but he isn't going for it. And who can blame him, when she treats him like dirt? Maybe I should say something, do something to cheer him up... I'll make sure he doesn't have to play at all today..._

McKayla seemed to cheer at this, and her thoughts continued on making plans and playing out girlish little fantasies, but I didn't want to hear any more, and I withdrew from her mind.

I fidgeted, feeling irritated for no good reason. I pulled a CD from one of the slots, and pushed it into the stereo—one of Archie's favorite alternative rock bands, more banging and screaming than music. I turned it up until the entire frame of the car was trembling with every hit of the bass, trying to drown out all the voices in my head. It was a fight not to let my concentration wander back to McKayla Newton's thoughts, where I knew _he_ was. I shouldn't be spying on him, that was impolite. But still, I would keep an eye out, so I would know exactly when he was leaving the gym so I could be prepared.

As the end of the hour drew near, I checked McKayla's thoughts again. I saw his face in her mind as the bell rang and the class began to file out of the gym doors. McKayla was admiring his features again—his tall, lean frame, his deep blue eyes, his silent demeanor... But at the moment her thoughts were colored with disappointment. She had to hurry to her parents' store after school to work, so there wasn't any time to talk. She said goodbye and hurried off through the doors with the rest of the crowd.

Without McKayla's eyes, I turned my own eyes to the crowd coming out—I picked out his pale face and dark hair easily.

Without knowing quite what I was doing, I found myself opening my car door, and stepping out into the rain.

The rain was a light mist in the air, clinging to my skin and hair. Breathing shallowly, I watched him draw closer, still not at all sure what I was doing. Was I hoping he would see me here? Was I hoping, inconceivably, he would come over and say something to me—prove McKayla wrong?

He was still walking in my direction, but he didn't look at me, instead tilting his head back to frown at the clouds, then sighed and came to a stop beside a faded red Chevy truck, several cars down from mine. The thing was huge and covered in rust, and obviously several times older than he was. He climbed into the truck without seeing me.

I slumped a little, disappointed, but I continued to watch him, leaning back against the side of my car, arms folded.

As he started the truck, the engine roared louder than any vehicle on the lot. Then he turned up the heat and put his hands to the vents. Of course—he didn't like the cold, or the damp.

He at last reached over and put his hand on the passenger seat, turning around to make sure the way was clear to back up. As he looked around, his eyes finally fell on me. He blinked, obviously startled—maybe because from the way I was standing, it had to be clear that I had been watching him.

He looked away sharply and sent the truck suddenly into reverse, as though eager to get away, but he had to slam on the breaks as he nearly took out Erica Teague's Toyota in his haste.

He checked all his blindspots again, then, looking deliberately in the direction opposite of where I was standing, he carefully backed out again.

As he passed me, he kept his eyes staring straight ahead, mouth set to hide his chagrin.

I realized I was laughing to myself at the look on his face. It wasn't really that funny, I supposed, having such a knee-jerk reaction to my very presence. He'd nearly flattened the surrounding landscape in his desperation to get away.

But, he _had_ looked at me.

* * *

A/N: On the Spanish class bit, I used Google Translate to get the revised version of the dialogue given the gender-swap, but for any Spanish speakers out there, if there's anything incorrect there, let me know the correct phrasing and I'll fix it. C: (*Edited—thanks to Aurain Orimura for the correction in the 'tu hermana' line, and also thanks to CCNHTributo-Runner for the help on the proper use of 'perdone' and the accent/spelling on 'estás.' Thanks so much!)

On another note, in the original Life and Death, Chapter 13 Confessions, Edythe tells Beau that she spent two days in Denali. (Edward tells the same thing to Bella.) However, in the Midnight Sun partial draft, Edward says he spent six days in Denali. (From chapter 2, Open Book: 'Six days had passed, six days I'd hidden here in the empty Denali wilderness'...) Considering that Beau first met Edythe on Monday, and she doesn't return to school until next Monday, I thought six days makes more sense than two. (I don't know what she would have been doing those other days if she came back early from Denali, and it's hard to believe that with Edythe's driving and no need for sleep that just getting there and back would have taken that many days.) So I decided to go with the Midnight Sun version.

Thanks for reading! Bit of a rougher one this time, but if you have a moment, let me know what you thought, and see you next time! C:

Posted 5/29/18


	4. Last Memory

A/N: Hey guys! So many different projects going on the last couple of weeks, I kept procrastinating on this, but still managed to make it somehow.

Thank you so much for for all your thoughts last chapter! (Don't worry, as you can see, the long-chapter trend is going to continue.)

* * *

Chapter 3: Last Memory

Though I wasn't really thirsty at all, I decided to go hunting again that night. Inadequate though it was, I wanted to do everything I could.

Carine decided to join me. We hadn't had any real time together since my return from Denali, and I knew she had been waiting for a chance to talk to me alone. As we both ran through the black forest, I could hear her thoughts—going over again our parting last week.

" _Edythe?"_ Carine was startled when she caught a glimpse of my face as I came into her office—wild, full of terror and despair.

" _I—I have to go,"_ I said. _"I have to go right now."_

" _What is it, Edythe? What's wrong? What's happened?"_

" _Nothing,"_ I managed. _"Nothing—yet. But—I need to go."_

She had reached for me, to touch my arm, but she drew back when I flinched away.

" _What is it, Edythe?"_ she had asked again, her voice at once urgent and kind. _"Please, tell me."_

I could see myself in her memory—my face twisted with pain. But as I answered her then, haltingly, a wild light seemed to come into my eyes that frightened Carine more than the agony.

" _Have you ever...has there ever been a time..."_ Hesitation. " _Tell me, Carine, has any one person ever had a scent better to you than all the rest?"_

I'd only seen it for a second—the flash of alarm. Then she reached for me again, and though I flinched back from her touch as before, she pulled me into an embrace. Carine was not really a physical person, and did not express the deep affection I knew she held for all of us with such gestures often, as Earnest did—her arms only rested lightly around me, gently, and yet somehow it was still fierce, too. She couldn't see the shame in my face, but she could feel it.

" _Go,"_ she had said softly in my ear. _"Do whatever you have to do to resist, my daughter."_

Carine was rethinking her reaction now. Wondering if it had hurt me, agreeing so quickly I ought to go, not putting more faith in me.

"No," I said quietly aloud into the darkness, interrupting her thoughts. "No, I'm glad you did. I wasn't... It was the only right thing to do. I'm afraid I might have betrayed you."

Carine's face was kind and sad. "I'm so sorry to see you suffering, Edythe. I would do something, if I could." She paused, then added, "But...you should do whatever necessary to allow the Swan boy to live. We all missed you while you were away, but if you must leave again, do so."

I nodded slowly.

We had slowed now, loping silently like a pair of mountain lions through the darkness. Carine glanced at me.

"Why did you come back?" she asked softly. "You know we hate to see you gone for any length of time. But if this is too difficult..."

I stared straight ahead at the black trees, passing more slowly along side us now. "I felt like a coward," I said finally. "Running away. I wanted to face this directly."

"Choosing to flee from temptation rather than risk succumbing to it is not cowardice," Carine said gently. "I know..." She hesitated, brow furrowing as she stared at me with deep, worried eyes.

 _I know how much you long to do the right thing, my daughter. If it would make it easier for you to leave... Well, very likely he will be gone in a year or two. That is not such a long time._

I opened my mouth to answer—she was right, of course—but the words got stuck in my throat. I looked away, but I could see in Carine's mind her eyes were still on my face, her concern growing. I saw my own expression—composed, but for a worry line slashed across my brow. But it was my eyes that gave away my intent—not defiance exactly, but resolution.

 _You aren't going to leave,_ she thought. It was a statement, not a question.

"No," I whispered. "I'm not. I can't."

 _Why not?_ she asked gently. _I meant it when I said that running away does not make a coward. Sometimes running away is the stronger thing, the right thing._

I nodded. "I know," I whispered. "That's...not it."

 _You don't know where you would go?_

I shook my head again.

Carine smiled a little. "We will all come with you, if that is what you need. You've moved on without complaint for the rest of them, at one time or another. They wouldn't begrudge you this."

I suddenly smiled grimly, and Carine read the course of my thoughts. She laughed softly.

"Yes, Royal might be a little...perturbed. But he owes you this, as much as the others. Besides, I have never known you to be too bothered by Royal's complaints on a matter before."

I couldn't help but grin slightly at that. No, the self-centered complaints of my narcissist of a brother would never have caused me to lose any sleep at night, could I sleep.

Carine's face was gentle again, earnest. "It would be much better for us to leave now, while there is no damage done, than to be forced to leave later...after something has been done that cannot be undone. After a life is taken, and all the broken pieces are left behind..."

Any trace of humor was gone from both our faces. I couldn't look her in the eye, and I turned instead to the dark trees.

 _But you are not leaving, are you?_ she thought. Even in her mind, the tone was still gentle, understanding—so much kinder than I deserved.

I shook my head, and despite the shame and misery and knowledge that she was right that all swam together in my mind, I knew I couldn't get myself to leave. The very thought made me recoil, and I could picture nothing but the torture of sitting, sitting and staring out at a field of snow, seeing nothing but what I was supposed to be running away from, wondering about the secrets and having nothing to distract me from the longing to see them unraveled... I didn't think I could handle that for another six days, let alone a year and a half.

Carine studied my face for a long minute, watching the conflicting emotions playing there. At last, she smiled. _I don't understand what you're thinking, Edythe. But I will respect your privacy, if that is what you need. This is your choice._

I smiled back a little, grateful. Grateful that she didn't hold the fact I never allowed anyone else any privacy against me. There was only one person who had privacy from me—and it was about driving me up a wall.

"Well," she said softly. "We're here. Shall we?"

She had just caught the scent of a small herd of deer. I nodded solemnly in response, though I could have grimaced when the scent reached my nose, too. With the memory of _his_ blood still fresh in my memory, the smell of the deer nearly turned my stomach.

We both shifted into a hunting crouch, and stalked silently forward toward the unappetizing scent.

* * *

The temperature had dropped by the time we returned. The temporarily melted snow had refrozen, and now the landscape looked as though it had been surfaced in a sheet of thinnest glass. Every pine needle, every fern and blade of grass, was covered in ice.

Carine left to dress for her early shift at the hospital, while I went to sit by the river, waiting for the sun to rise.

I sat motionless on the stone, not unlike a part of it myself—cold, hard. I stared down at the dark water running beside the icy bank, into its tumultuous black depths.

Carine was right. I should leave Forks now. There were countless stories to easily explain my absence—boarding school in Europe, visiting distant relatives—Anything. It didn't matter, it wasn't like anyone would examine it too closely. Just a year or two, and he would be gone. He would get older, go on with his life, as long as I didn't cut it short. He'd probably go to college somewhere—he was smart, maybe he'd go on to be a teacher, or a journalist, or even a medical professional like Carine. He would discover what he wanted to do if he didn't know already. He'd leave Forks and probably go live somewhere sunny. In California, or Florida, maybe, near the beach. Maybe he would eventually meet a girl, get married, have children...

I felt an odd pang, deep in my chest. A kind of longing I had never experienced before. I had seen it in Royal's mind so many times, the desire for these ordinary, human things, for a human life, but it wasn't something I had ever really thought about wanting for myself that I could remember, even when I was human. But I realized now that I envied this boy—I envied the future I knew I could never have.

Carine was right. It was wrong of me to risk the bright future ahead of him. I realized that all this time, I had only been thinking of the present—the dilemma of killing him or not was an almost abstract, philosophical consideration to me. But now I was faced with the reality—what it would mean if I slipped up and became a murderer. I wouldn't just destroy one boy here and now, cause his father and the mother he spoke so fondly of pain unimaginable, I would destroy the entire future he deserved. Carine was right—the only right thing to do was to do everything I could to avoid that, no matter what.

I watched as the sun rose behind the clouds, and the faint light glistened off all the frozen glass.

One more day, I decided. One last day—I could trust myself that far. Then I would disappear. Maybe I would even mention something, set up the reasons why I would never return...

It wouldn't be easy. It would take all my willpower. In the back of my mind, I was already trying to find excuses to drag it longer, to two days, three, four... Part of it was still the unsatisfied curiosity, but I couldn't be sure how much of my reluctance was my still yet unsatisfied appetite, the thought of forever forgoing the taste of the scent that made me feel so _alive_...

Carine was right. I had to go. Perhaps in this moment I was idealistic and humane enough to think of the boy's future, for that to be enough to restrain my hunger. But could I trust myself hour after hour, day after day, week after week, and never have a moment of weakness?

No, I didn't trust myself that far. There was only one answer, and that was to remove myself from the temptation.

My mind set, I got up and went inside to change into fresh clothes for school.

Of course, Archie was waiting for me, sitting on the top step at the edge of the third floor, head resting on his hands.

 _You're leaving again_ , he said.

I nodded slowly.

 _Where are you going?_

I shook my head. "I don't know yet."

 _You really can't stay?_

"I'm sorry," I said quietly.

He tried to smile. _Maybe Jess and I could come with you. Keep you company. You'll go crazy by yourself._

I smiled a little at the thought. That would almost make it bearable—almost. But I shook my head. "With me gone, they'll need you all the more to be their eyes. Promise me you'll watch out for them and keep them safe."

I had passed him on the landing now, headed to my room.

Archie shook his head. He called after me, in his mind. _Stay, Edy. You're splitting us up. It'll totally suck without you around._

I sighed. "You know I want to. But I can't. I have to do the right thing."

 _And how can you know for sure what the right thing is?_ he wondered. _You say that like there's only one right way and one wrong way—but the future isn't that simple._

For one moment his mind flickered, all concentration going to his strange visions of the future. They were no more than shadows, indistinct blurs not yet realized. I saw myself amidst the visions, but I couldn't see what I was doing. Then, abruptly, one of the images sharpened slightly, and I saw myself, my skin glittering in the sunlight of a small open meadow. I recognized the place—I'd been there before. I saw in the vision a hazy figure standing beside me, but the form was too indistinct to make out. Then the images shivered and disappeared as a million tiny choices rearranged the future again.

I frowned. "I...didn't really catch much of that."

 _Me either,_ he admitted. _Your future's shifting around—changing so fast I can't make out anything solid._

He flipped through a vast collection of other recent visions for me—but they were all the same, blurry, impossible to make out clearly.

 _I feel like something is changing,_ he thought. _It's like...your life is at a crossroads._

I sighed. "You always have to make things so dramatic." I paused, half turning to look at him. "What about today? Do you see anything?"

He shrugged. "I don't see you killing anyone, if that's what you mean."

I nodded slowly. I clung to that.

Just one more day, I promised myself. This was the last day I would be putting an innocent boy in danger.

"I won't say anything," he said quietly. "I'll leave it up to you to tell the others when you're ready."

He got to his feet, then loped about halfway down the first staircase before he stopped, turning to look back up at me.

 _It'll be rough without you, Edy. I'll miss you._

I watched him for a moment as he continued on down the stairs, hands in his pockets, shoulders hunched.

I smiled a bit with melancholy. Funny how when I'd first met Archie, he had annoyed me to no end. But I would miss him as much as he would miss me. We were partners, he and I—freaks in a world of freaks, working together and hiding one another's secrets. If anything, I would miss him more—he would still have Jessamine, and I knew he would be fine as long as they were together. I—I would soon be alone. It would only be for a couple of years or so, but for someone who doesn't sleep, two years can seem like an eternity.

It was a quiet ride to school. Jessamine was aware of the mood, mine and Archie's—I was doing my best not to think about it, to just be glad of this one last day, but Archie was depressed. But as worried as Jessamine was, she knew that Archie would talk about it only when he was ready, and she said nothing. Royal and Eleanor were absorbed in each other, and didn't notice anything unusual.

My mood was quickly darkening, and I was glad when we arrived and I could get away from their thoughts.

As I stepped out of the car, I found myself automatically sweeping all the thoughts in the parking lot, looking for him.

I didn't move, leaning against the door of the car. Royal, Eleanor and Jessamine all went on ahead—I could feel Royal's disgust but I ignored him. This was going to be my last day anyway—so what if I wanted to see him? Ask him a few more questions? After eighty years of the same monotony every single day, every night, there was surely nothing unusual about finding myself drawn in by the novelty of something new...right?

Archie stayed with me. I wasn't sure I wanted him there—Beau seemed shy enough without adding more people to the equation. But Archie looked so glum at the prospect of my leaving that I didn't have the heart to send him away.

He had apparently yet to arrive, but I heard the thunder of his ancient truck's engine coming up the road some distance away. It was a minute or two before the truck finally came chugging into view. I noticed immediately his eyes were fixed on the road, his hands clenched around the steering wheel. Apparently, the slick ice covering the lot had him worried. He moved the truck cautiously, carefully—there was another trait. He paid attention, he was responsible.

He parked the truck a few slots down from mine, but didn't seem to have noticed me yet, standing here, staring at him. But he probably would see me when he got out and headed toward school. Most likely, he'd turn red and pick up his pace to get away. But maybe he'd stare back, wondering what was with me. Maybe he would come over here to ask.

I drew a deep breath through my mouth, filling my lungs just in case.

He got out of the truck tentatively, eyes on the ground. He didn't look my way, but instead gripped the side of the truck as though for dear life, and made his way around to the truck's rear, though that was the opposite direction of the school, his feet sliding around almost comically.

No one else in the parking lot seemed to be having the same trouble, I wondered if perhaps somehow he had parked in the worst patch of ice. That seemed about in line with his usual luck. I smiled a little to myself.

At the back of the truck, he paused, looking down at the tires, which had been crisscrossed in snow chains. His blue eyes were wide—surprise? Then his face turned to a deep frown, though not as though he were unhappy. More like...he was trying to suppress some emotion.

The curiosity was intense—a burn that was almost impossible to resist. Now, what was that look for?

I hesitated, torn. Maybe I would go talk to him. One last time. There couldn't be any harm in that, right?

" _No!"_ Archie gasped suddenly, making me freeze in place. All my focus was immediately on his thoughts—what had he seen? Me, making some critical error?

I saw the flash of images in his mind, none of them having to do with me. Everything to do with _him._

Half a second after the vision I saw the van turn into the parking lot, going far too fast given the weather conditions. Taylor Crowley was behind the wheel. Her face was a mask of terror and horror, and she pumped desperately on the brakes, but the lumbering van continued to slide on the ice—straight toward the back of the old Chevy, exactly where he was standing.

He looked up, alerted by the deafening screech of tires. For the briefest second, his eyes met mine. Then he turned his head to face the van.

My prey, my enemy.

In that moment, he didn't seem like either.

Words were screaming in my mind as I saw in Archie's vision the death—the way the van would crush the lower half of his body, and the way the grill would crack his skull and snap his neck—and the scream resolved itself into a plea.

 _Not him. Please, not him—_

Archie's vision suddenly shifted, but I didn't look to see what it was. Because I was no longer standing beside him, but moving in a blur of motion, too fast for any human eye to follow.

He didn't see me, eyes still fastened to the approaching van. I struck him hard in the side, tackling him out of the way. The fraction of a second between when I felt my hands shoving him back to the time we hit the pavement felt like an agonizing eternity. I could feel his warm, breakable body from my grip around his waist, and I knew I hadn't been going slow enough.

As I heard the crack of his head hit the icy blacktop, I froze.

I was on top of him, pinning him to the ground, but I had no chance to ascertain the damage, as it was apparent this was not over yet.

The van had struck the rear of the truck, bending around the sturdy iron body, and as it did the van was arcing, spinning back toward us—as though being pulled by a magnet.

I was getting exasperated now.

"Come _on_ ," I hissed.

What little I'd done was already too much—the greatest, most deliberate risk I had ever taken, not simply risking my own exposure, but my entire family's. One blurred movement, moving too fast to be human, was bad enough, but this—

However, I knew what my decision was even before the thoughts shot like lightning through my mind. Whatever I had to do.

I threw out both hands in front of me. The side of the van crumpled in slightly where it met my palms. It shoved me back against the car parked beside the truck, and I felt the frame crumple behind my shoulders. The van had stopped barely a foot from his face, but I still didn't have a moment check how he was.

The van shuddered and shivered against the unyielding obstacle of my arms, then swayed, balancing unstably on the two far tires—it had, incredibly, swung around just enough on the ice that, if I were to let the van go now, the rear tire would come down right on his legs.

 _You can't be serious,_ I thought incredulously. What was I supposed to do—sit here, calmly holding up the van and its terrified, mentally incoherent driver away from him until help arrived?

Mentally cursing, I pushed the van back slightly, then caught it under the frame with one hand. With my other, I gripped him securely around the side and dragged his form back, pulling his legs out of the path of the van's tire. His body was completely limp in my arm, filling me simultaneously with relief and terror. I must have knocked him out when his head hit the ground, or left him loopy, which was better in terms of keeping our secret—but what permanent damage might his fragile human body have sustained at my hardly gentle attempt at a rescue?

I let the van drop. The wheel crashed against the pavement, and the windows shattered, showering the parking lot around us.

There was silence for one long moment. Then the screaming started.

I knew very well I may have done something that could not be taken back. How much had he seen? Had anyone watched me materialize right beside him, stop the van with my bare hands, then hold it up as I dragged him out from under it?

My concentration should have been on scanning the thoughts of the crowd, looking for signs of suspicion, or the kind of shock that came from witnessing something impossible—but instead, my growing panic seemed entirely focused on the wrong thing.

I leaned over him, intensely aware of the fact I still had him pressed against my side, and the heat I could feel radiating from his thin frame even through our jackets. And what I would smell if I allowed myself to inhale.

"Beau?" I said quietly, urgently. "Are you all right?"

His eyes were open, wide with shock. "I'm fine," he answered, automatically.

He sounded dazed, a little out of it, but otherwise all right. Relief flooded through me, so powerful it made me ache. I breathed deeply through my mouth, almost glad of the burn that came with it.

He tried to sit up then, pull away from me, but I didn't let go.

"Be careful," I said softly. "I think you hit your head pretty hard."

I was sure he wasn't bleeding—even just breathing through my mouth, I was sure I would have tasted that—but that didn't mean there weren't internal injuries. Better to get him to Carine as soon as possible, to have a more complete, professional look...

He blinked at this. "Ow," he muttered, suddenly wincing, as he apparently finally registered the pain.

"That's what I thought." My tone sounded more amused than I meant it to be. I felt the shock of relief still oozing through me, making me feel almost giddy.

His slightly unfocused eyes suddenly sharpened, and he looked up at me. "How in the..." he began. "How did you get over here so fast?"

That sobered me immediately. Now that I knew he was safe, my priorities immediately rearranged themselves back to what I knew they should have been from the beginning—keep the secret. Keep my family safe.

"I was standing right next to you, Beau," I said. He must feel disoriented, especially after hitting his head. He had seen me for that one brief moment when he'd first looked up...but surely it wouldn't be difficult to misdirect him. I'd found in the past that, as long as you spoke with enough confidence, often human memories were more adjustable that they realized.

Again he tried to sit up, and this time I let go of him, helping him up, and then shifting away from him, trying to get as much distance between us in the enclosed space between wrecked vehicles as possible, to give myself some room to think, and breathe.

However, as he gazed at me questioningly, I held the gaze, refusing to break eye contact first—I couldn't show the slightest sign of discomfort. Instead I simply did my best to look down with the gentle concern of a good Samaritan. After a moment of studying my face, his expression seemed to cloud with confusion, which I took as a good sign.

The accident scene was surrounded now. Students were shouting, looking terrified and trying to see through the cracks enough to determine if anyone was dead—I scanned the thoughts quickly, looking for signs of any suspicion, as I ought to have done before, but all thoughts seemed to be focused on him, the clearly more hurt of the two of us.

He seemed distracted by the chaos, and he looked away from me, glancing around at the sudden rush of activity around us. He shifted his legs, as though to stand up, but I reached forward and put my hand on his shoulder to stop him.

"Just stay put for now," I said gently, still worried about potential internal injuries.

"But it's cold," he objected.

I chuckled under my breath before I could stop myself. Of course. Nearly crushed to death by a van, and still the cold was all he was worried about.

He blinked, and his eyes suddenly focused on my face. "You were over there," he insisted, eyes flickering toward the south, though our view was now blocked by the side of the van. "You were by your car."

Again, that sucked any vestiges of amusement from my thoughts. I looked at him evenly, straight in the eye. "No, I wasn't."

"I saw you," he argued, and I saw him set his shoulders, the same way he had in the Biology room the day before, in the discussion of why he had come to Forks.

My voice was calm and soothing as I answered, "Beau, I was standing with you, and I pulled you out of the way."

I leaned forward slightly, staring deeply into his wide, yet vaguely defiant eyes. Trying to somehow make him accept my version of events through sheer force of will. And he had to—what other explanation was there? He was a sound, rational person who didn't believe in the impossible.

Under the intensity of my stare, his defiance seemed to lessen. He stared back at me a moment, bewildered. I thought for a moment he was going to nod and sheepishly admit perhaps maybe he was going crazy. Then he said quietly, "But that's not what happened."

As always, I had misinterpreted the look in his eyes. His confusion wasn't in questioning what he had seen—he knew exactly what he had seen. Only he couldn't understand why I was trying to cover it up.

Another mistake. I'd thought he seemed soft, malleable—but that was wrong. There was a confidence there I'd never guessed. A confidence in what he observed.

The only thing was to keep him quiet for a few minutes, at least until I could circulate knowledge of his head injury, thereby discrediting anything he might say.

But though it was obviously necessary, the thought seemed distasteful the moment it crossed my mind. I was filled with a sudden emotion I couldn't quite put a name to.

"Please, Beau," I said softly.

"Why?" he wanted to know, frowning slightly.

At last, the vague desire finally formed itself into words. "Trust me?" I whispered.

He gazed back at me for a moment. "Will you promise to explain everything to me later?" he asked.

I stared back, wondering why, of all the things he could say at a time like this, he had to make that request. I had just asked for trust, and so it was unbelievably frustrating to be forced to lie. But as adults came onto the scene and I heard sirens wailing in the distance, I knew I had to put an end to this conversation as quickly as possible.

"Fine," I said abruptly.

"Okay," he agreed, though his voice was a little more subdued at the harshness in my tone.

Finally I turned my attention away from him to focus entirely on the minds of the spectators already on the scene and those just arriving, searching out anything potentially dangerous. However, I found nothing. As surprised as many were to find me over here beside him in the middle of wreckage, most dismissed it, assuming they must have simply failed to notice me, if they even bothered to consider the oddity at all.

I sucked in a deep, calming breath through my mouth, feeling the burn of the scent at the back of my throat. It was okay. This was containable. Maybe he wouldn't go along with the story, but...he was in shock. Traumatized. Had sustained a blow to the head. No one would believe him over me, especially if I put to use every art of deception I'd honed over the course of eight decades. My lies would sound a thousand times more real than his truth, especially since my story fit so much better with their views of reality.

My somewhat diabolical thoughts were cut short as I suddenly caught the thoughts of Royal, Jessamine, and Eleanor arriving on the scene. They were not happy, to say the least. Royal was mentally shouting, quite a few words that would have drawn more than a few shocked looks from the teachers and certainly landed him in his first-ever detention. Things would not be pretty when I got home tonight.

I was intensely aware of the indentation in the side of the tan car next to the truck, which was the precise size and shape of my shoulders. I wished I might smooth it out, but I didn't dare do anything with him still sitting nearby, his eyes watching my every move. It would be the only potential evidence of his wild story.

I didn't move as the humans struggled with the van, trying to heave it far enough away for the EMTs to fit in with their stretchers. It seemed to take an infernally long time, and I could have done the work in about two seconds if there weren't so many eyes on us. A particularly keen, problematic set of eyes among them.

Finally they had the van away, and the EMTs were in. A woman with short hair appeared in the space first, quickly scanning the scene. A stroke of luck—It was Brita Warner, a registered nurse as well as an EMT, who I knew well from the hospital. That would give me an edge. Her first impression as she took in my face was that I looked alert and calm.

"Hi, Edythe," she said with a smile. "How are you feeling?"

"Fine, Brita," I said, smiling reassuringly back, though with just the right mix of concern the situation warranted. "I was fortunate enough I got away unscathed."

I sensed the boy open his mouth beside me, and I went on quickly, "But you really should look at Beau, he hit his head pretty hard when I pulled him out of the way. He might have a concussion. There could be some internal hemorrhaging. You'll probably want to have them do a few X-rays."

Brita nodded gravely, then moved her attention on to the clearly more pressing patient.

He shot me a look of pure poison, before he took to studiously ignoring me. I'd forgotten just how much he didn't like attention.

While Brita gave him a cursory examination, another EMT tried to insist I at least let myself be looked at, but she was easily dissuaded by my calm, assured demeanor. They could easily see by looking at me where I stood that I was completely fine, not so much as a scrape from the icy road, and she was easy enough to satisfy.

They gave him a fairly routine check-over, and Brita decided it was best to put on a neck brace as a precaution before they loaded him onto a stretcher. Almost all eyes in the parking lot, which formed a fairly significant percentage of the entire school, were on him, faces somber. His face had turned a deep brick red, and he looked as though if he could go back and have the choice between being hit by the van and this, he would take the van. I wondered idly if he would ever forgive me.

Probably not.

If he had been unaware we were enemies before, he certainly wasn't now.

I used the distraction the solemn march to the ambulance afforded me to quietly alter the shape of the dent in the tan car with the back of my foot. No one but my siblings seemed to notice what I was doing.

 _I'll check it later and fix anything you missed,_ Eleanor promised.

Eleanor's tone was warmer and less explosive than I expected, and I was glad she at least seemed to be already over my moment of insanity. Having at least one sibling who wasn't ready to string me up cheered me at least a little as I headed toward the front seat of the ambulance, where Brita had invited me to ride, while the EMTs worked to load the stretcher in the back. I could almost feel his resentful eyes follow me all the way to the cab, even without seeing his face from the minds of spectators from about a dozen different angles.

No, he was definitely not going to forgive me. Especially when I strategically spread around the knowledge of his head injury. And everyone thought his incredible story no more than a delusion...

I felt something sharp prick the back of my mind. Guilt? Guilt, because he was only saying what he knew he had seen, and was the truth, and I was going to make him think he was crazy, and if that didn't work, undermine his credibility? Was I depressed, because he was probably going to completely despise me now?

My thoughts were cut short when a disruption at the edge of the lot turned the attention of many thoughts at once.

"Beau!" shouted a voice above the others.

Everyone immediately recognized his father, Chief Swan, wading through the crowd.

When he came within range, and my attention flitted automatically to him, I was startled by the intensity of emotion that fell over me. He was beyond words—anxiety quickly escalated into panic and horrified guilt, and they seemed to crash over me like a tidal wave.

I sat where I was, frozen. Archie had mentioned his father—that the boy was his only family, and what killing him would mean to the man. But until this moment I hadn't fully appreciated what he meant.

At this, almost like some kind of odd reverse of Archie's power, I felt the past open up behind me. The endless possibilities—what _would_ have happened if I had murdered the boy on the first day.

Funerals in this small a town were typically attended by nearly everyone, or at least everyone at his school would be expected to go, so it would look strange if any of us were absent. Consequently I, the murderer, would have been forced to go to his funeral. Through the guilty tint of the contacts in my eyes, I would have watched Charlie Swan grieve his son, felt the onslaught of his emotions many times stronger than what they were now.

The scene continued to play against my will. Though I knew if it had happened that way I would have disposed of the body, all the same an image formed in my mind—an open casket beside a tomb, in which lay a pale, still form. The image seemed to burn itself into my thoughts, starkly crystalline white on night black.

"Edythe? Are you all right?"

I glanced up to see Brita was studying my face with concern.

Outside, the sound of Chief Swan's voice demanding to know if his son was all right, and the boy's ineffectual muttered assurances he was fine were still continuing.

I was surprised I'd lost control of my expression. For a second I'd almost forgotten my surroundings.

I forced a smile. "I'm fine," I said. "I was just worried about how Earnest might react if word of all this reaches him before I get a chance to talk to him..."

Brita smiled back. "Sometimes fathers are the worst worriers. Just have Carine call him when we get to the hospital. But it might be a good idea to have her take a look at you later."

"I'll do that," I said. "She'd probably say we can never be too careful."

"You have such good parents," Brita said, still smiling.

"I know," I said, with feeling. She had no idea.

Strangely, I found I was feeling much more calm than I had a second ago, and not because I needed to put up a front for Brita. Perhaps it was the sudden, horrifying vision from a moment ago. As bad as it was, it made me realize—whether my entire family was furious with me, whether _he_ never spoke to me again—the way things were now was better than the alternative.

My attention went back to Chief Swan. He was speaking to another EMT now about his son's condition, and the tone of his thoughts was a little calmer now.

"...Yes, Chief Swan, the neck brace is only a precaution, but we want to get him to the hospital as soon as possible."

"All right, go then—I'll be over there."

This had my attention, as for the first time I noticed something—now that Chief Swan was speaking, I expected to hear the words forming in his mind, too, or to hear secondary thoughts that were coherent again. But again I only got the vague sense of emotions radiating from his mind. It wasn't that his panic was wordless, rather, it seemed I just wasn't hearing the words.

It was an interesting discovery. I'd always assumed Chief Swan to be a man of somewhat slow thought, but it seemed I just hadn't been paying enough attention. Apparently, whatever the son had that protected him from my probes was genetic. This would bear some investigation later...

But not now. Now I had to focus. Listen to every thought, search out any sign of suspicion. I closed my eyes and leaned my head back against the headrest.

When my eyes opened again, we were at the hospital. I heard nothing alarming in any of the paramedics' thoughts in the back. He seemed to be sticking to my fairly unremarkable version of events—so far, at least. I quickly tried to mentally arrange how to tell Carine as quickly as possible what had happened.

Brita wasn't surprised as she saw me get out of the ambulance first thing and rush inside like the devil was on my heels. In a town this small, the chance Earnest would have heard something was more than likely, and she figured I had good reason to be in a hurry to get to Carine.

Keeping a mental eye on Beau through the paramedics, I searched out Carine's familiar mind, and found it easily. I breathed a slight sigh of relief. She was alone in her office, another stroke of good fortune. I was there in minutes.

"Carine?"

Carine looked up from her desk to see me standing in the open doorway. I couldn't hide the guilt and anguish from my expression—I may not have exactly been sorry for what I had done, but it was her family I had just put into jeopardy.

Carine read the look, and she rose from her desk in alarm, her pale features turning as white as bone as her thoughts immediately jumped to a different conclusion. Images of horror and the faces of the boy and Chief Swan flickered through her mind.

I shut the door behind me. "It's not that," I said quickly. I breathed, trying to regain my poise. "But I did do something...the others consider unwise."

Carine got up and came slowly around the desk. _What happened, Edythe?_

I couldn't bring myself to look at her, so I stared at the back wall. There she had displayed only one simple oil painting, an undiscovered Hassam, rather than the vast array of awards she had collected over the many years.

"It does involve him," I said slowly. "He was...There was a van that skidded across the ice, and he was in the way. Archie saw it coming. I..."

I paused. Something had just occurred to me. Two things.

I shook my head and forced myself to finish. "...And I intervened."

Carine considered that. "Intervened?" she repeated at last.

"I wasn't close by," I said, the words coming more quickly now in my agitation, still not looking at her. "I was halfway across the lot. So I—I just—I _ran_. I pushed him out of the way at first, but the van was coming at such a bad angle, I had to actually stop it—"

I broke off, then went on, determined to redeem myself, "No one saw it—no one except for him, and I don't think anyone will believe whatever he might say. I'm sorry to have put us all in danger, Carine, it just—I felt like there wasn't a choice."

Carine was silent for a moment, and I still couldn't look at her.

At last, she said softly, "You felt like there wasn't a choice. I suppose...you were afraid that if his blood was spilled on the parking lot, you might be overcome."

Before I could stop it, my eyes rose to meet hers. Her words seemed to echo my own thoughts just a moment before. The temptation of his blood was constant, overpowering—if I had actually seen his blood, I probably would have found myself hurtling across the parking lot for a very different reason. The others couldn't argue with that logic, even Royal. One smaller risk to stop a much bigger one. The lesser of two evils.

It was the easy explanation—easier than the truth. Easier than admitting the other thing I had realized. As I'd flown across the parking lot, such a calculation had been the last thing on my mind. I had chosen a nearly perfect stranger, a human, over my own family.

I stared back at Carine, and she could read the confusion, the terror in my eyes. "No," I whispered. "No, I just...I couldn't let...I just couldn't let it happen."

Carine gazed back at me for a moment longer. Then she smiled, an almost radiant expression. She reached up and touched my face. _I'm proud of you, Edythe. You did the right thing._ She shook her head. _I'm sorry I jumped to the wrong conclusion at first._

I shook my head at her apology. She didn't need to apologize to me—how could she trust me when I couldn't trust myself? However, at her thoughts, I felt suddenly lighter, and I returned the smile reluctantly. I felt like if Carine was behind my decision, I could take whatever I got from the others.

However, it wasn't a moment before my expression was serious again, back to business mode. "But he knows something now," I admitted again. "He knows that I'm not normal. I couldn't get him to dismiss it as shock or trauma."

"That doesn't matter," Carine said softly. "We can leave if we have to. What has he said?"

I sighed. "I'm watching him now, but he hasn't said anything to anyone, at least not yet. He's been repeating my version of the events. But that's only because I said I would give him an explanation later."

"Hmm," Carine murmured.

"He hit his head, though," I said. "It will be easy to discredit anything he might say."

 _Yes,_ Carine agreed, a little reluctantly. _We'll see if it comes to that. For now let's wait and see...I'll go take a look at him._

I touched her arm as she passed. "Please..." I hesitated. "Really look at his head. I'm afraid I might have hurt him."

Carine paused, taking in my expression. I could see my own face in her mind, intense with worry. I could hear her silent question, wondering what it meant, but she didn't direct it at me, and I pretended not to hear. But it made her glad.

"Don't worry," she said, smiling. "I will take good care of him."

As she headed down the hall, I could hear her wonder and delighted amusement, pondering the irony—today I had gone from being the greatest danger to him to saving his life.

I chuckled a little myself, but it was humorless. Because there was no doubt the first part, van notwithstanding, was still entirely true.

* * *

I waited alone in Carine's office, listening to the babble of thoughts through the entire hospital. The minutes seemed to creep by with interminable slowness.

Taylor Crowley, the van's driver, seemed to be the much worse off of the two of them, and attention shifted to her while Beau was waiting his turn to be X-rayed. Carine didn't examine him herself yet, choosing instead to trust the PA's diagnosis that his injuries were very minor. She thought it better to minimize contact for now, especially so soon after the event—there was no doubt when he laid eyes on her he would immediately pick up on the family resemblance, compounding suspicion on top of suspicion. As much as I was anxious for Carine to have a look at him, I knew it was better to go slow—wait until things had calmed down and there wasn't so much scrutiny and activity around him.

I was tense, however, as Taylor Crowley's stretcher was brought into the ER, to the bed right beside Beau's. Despite the lacerations on her own face, all her attention was on Beau, and she was uttering a nonstop string of profuse apologies. Beau, who did not like attention, especially not this kind of attention, kept trying to politely curtail her, but she seemed determined to keep on going.

I stiffened slightly when she asked unexpectedly, _"How did you get out of the way so fast? You were there, and then you were gone..."_

I listened intently for his response.

" _Umm..."_ he began.

He paused for so long Taylor wondered if he hadn't understood the question, and I wondered if he somehow knew I was listening, and he thought leaving me in tortured suspense was a good first step to payback. Finally, he said, _"Edythe shoved me out of the way."_

I let out a sigh, relieved, for the moment. However, I was distracted. A thrill like an electric charge went through me—and I realized I'd never heard him say my name before. Before I knew what I was doing, I found myself going to the door of the office. I hesitated there. I had the strangest desire to to go down to the ER, though that didn't seem entirely wise for obvious reasons.

Taylor didn't know what he meant, and he said it again, this time with emphasis. _"Edythe Cullen—she was standing next to me."_

Taylor's thoughts were a bit disorganized, perhaps more affected by the shock of the crash than she seemed. _"Edythe?" Weird. "I didn't see her..." I could have sworn Beau was on his own there, but... "Wow, it was all so fast, I guess. Is she okay?"_

I saw his face through Taylor's mind, and though Taylor didn't notice, I saw a sharpening in his eyes—another confirmation of what he already knew.

" _I think so,"_ he said, answering her question. _"She's here somewhere, but they didn't make her use a stretcher."_ The resentment was palpable, but Taylor seemingly wasn't one for picking up on subtleties. She was also a bit distracted, her attention suddenly on his face.

 _I never noticed before, but he's kind of cute,_ she thought. _Quiet guys aren't usually my type, but—well, I did just about kill him. I wonder if he'd let me do something to try to make up..._

I found myself slipping out the office door and I was about halfway to the emergency room before my senses returned to me and I wondered exactly what I was doing. I watched the nurse at the far end of the hall enter the room, to retrieve Beau to do X-rays. I drew back around the corner, retreating into the shadows of a nook while I tried to piece together what on earth was the matter with me.

I didn't like Taylor's thoughts. They made me feel...what was it? Irritable? Frustrated? They made me want to go and put an immediate stop to the conversation. Was it the vaguely scheming tone of her thoughts, or the fact she seemed to regard him as simply one among many? That shouldn't affect me. How many thoughts had I listened to involving obscenely tangled and complicated dating relationships and love lives, all deception and conniving and impure motives? And I'd never once felt the slightest impulse to meddle.

I stayed where I was, my arms folded, trying to concentrate and figure out what it was getting under my skin. I kept still for what felt like far too long, until I was buzzing with restlessness. I forced myself to turn away from the direction of the ER, and instead I slipped off to the radiology room.

I took a cursory look at his X-rays when the nurse turned his back. I breathed deeply, and even the sterile hospital room already burned with the hint of the flavor of his scent, from when he had been here not long ago. I was more relieved than I expected. The sound of his skull hitting the asphalt as I shoved him out of the way...it would probably never be out of my mind. But at least I knew now I hadn't actually hurt him. His X-rays were clear.

Carine was coming down the hall, and she caught me there. Her eyes took in the change in my face and a hint of a smile touched her lips.

 _You certainly look better,_ she noted.

I didn't acknowledge the comment—the halls were full of orderlies and visitors, but I knew she knew I heard her.

Carine saw what had me in a better mood, and her smile widened. She stuck the X-rays to the lightboard, though I didn't really need to see them again.

 _Well done, Edythe._

Again, I didn't react to the praise, but this time it was because my reaction was mixed. I felt warm, happy—there was no one whose approval I wanted more than Carine's. But it made me feel guilty, too. Because as I looked at the X-rays, I knew I was going to do something reckless, and I had a feeling she wouldn't approve of it—at least if she knew what my real motivations were.

Wasn't I supposed to be running away?

"I think I'm just going to go down and talk to him—before he sees you," I murmured under my breath. "Act natural, smooth things over..."

Carine nodded absently, her eyes still on the X-rays. "I think that's an excellent idea." She paused, something on the X-rays catching her interest.

I glanced over to see what she was looking at.

 _My, look at all these healed contusions. Either he had a very careless mother, or his luck is so poor it borders on extraordinary._

"I'd go for the luck option," I muttered back, too low for anyone to hear. "He has a gift for being at the wrong place at the wrong time."

She glanced briefly at me, then looked away again. _That's certainly true._ I knew what she meant, which she didn't add in mental words. Any place was wrong for him, so long as I was there.

I looked away quickly.

"I'll see you later, Carine," I murmured, turning.

Carine nodded, still looking at the X-rays. _I'll be there soon._

I strode quickly away, and my pricked conscience faded to the background for the moment as my thoughts turned instead to the ER.

There, Taylor was still apologizing, though more quietly now. After trying unsuccessfully to convince her he was fine, he'd finally resorted to pretending to sleep to escape. His eyes were closed, but his breathing wasn't even, and there was an obvious tension in his torso as he concentrated on staying still.

For a moment, my eyes were riveted to his face. I was leaving after today. I realized this was the last time I would see him, and the finality of the thought, the abruptness, made me feel weak. I shook my head. I needed to get a grip. I had a job to do.

At last, I took a breath through my mouth and stepped into view.

Taylor saw me and she opened her mouth to speak, but I put a finger to my lips.

"Is he sleeping?" I asked softly.

His eyes opened immediately, to find me standing at the end of his bed. They widened briefly with surprise, then narrowed, his mouth set in a firm line. Irritated—perhaps because he was still in a hospital bed, suffering through neverending apologies, and I was up walking around, or because he was suddenly remembering what he had seen and impatient for that explanation I'd promised.

My smile widened, and the brief spell of melancholia from a second before faded to the back of my mind. I realized I rather enjoyed the subtle look of irritation he was directing at me now—too subtle for Taylor to pick up—and I wondered why that was. Maybe this was a new side of myself I'd never seen. Did I just enjoy needling people?

Taylor tried to insert herself into the moment. "Hey, um, Edythe, I'm really sorry—"

Without moving my eyes, I raised a hand to stop her before she could build up any momentum.

"No blood, no foul," I said, smiling a little too widely at the inside joke. Funny, how Taylor's fresh, exposed blood wasn't even the remotest temptation at the moment. I'd always wondered how Carine was able to ignore the blood of her patients in order to treat them, how she kept it from being a distraction, but now I thought I understood. It wasn't so tempting when you were focusing hard enough on something else. And besides, her blood wasn't nearly so appealing as I once might have found it, not by comparison.

I decided it was better to keep my distance, and I circled around to sit near the end of Taylor's mattress, my back to her, facing him. I liked that—physically shutting her out of the conversation, especially since her plans to make up were rapidly becoming more defined.

"So, what's the verdict?" I asked, as if I didn't already know.

His arms were folded. "There's nothing wrong with me, but they won't let me go," he muttered. He spoke low and soft enough that it took some of the edge off the annoyance. He added, voice light but the note of frustration still there, "How come you aren't strapped to a gurney like the rest of us?"

I could hear Carine in the hall now. I knew I had a part to play, keep things light, natural. I probably should have said something safe and polite, but the look on his face only made me want to tease him a little more.

"It's all about who you know," I said, smiling, knowing this would only irritate him further—me, using my connections to gain unfair advantages. I added to pacify him, "But don't worry, I came to spring you."

He didn't have time to respond as at that moment Carine entered the room and he did an almost comical doubletake.

I watched his reaction carefully, and it was clear from the way he first stared in dumb surprise, quickly followed by that familiar keen sharpening in his eyes, that he had indeed taken distinct note of the family resemblance.

"So, Mr. Swan, how are you feeling?" Carine asked. Her soft, soothing demeanor generally always put patients at ease—Carine's skill as a doctor was far more than her lifetimes of experience and centuries of medical study and knowledge.

"I'm fine," he answered.

Carine had brought his X-rays along and now she clipped them to the lightboard beside the bed. They glowed in smokey black and white.

"Your X-rays look good," she said. "Does your head hurt? Edythe said you hit it pretty hard."

"It's fine," he said again, sighing, clearly getting tired of repeating this, especially after talking to Taylor. He glanced in my direction with an expression that was hard to interpret, but I didn't meet his gaze.

Carine stepped forward. With the tips of her fingers, she examined his scalp, searching for injuries at the point of impact. Standard procedure.

I'd seen Carine do her work with humans a thousand times at least—I'd even assisted her informally at times, at least in cases where there was no blood involved. So I was unprepared for the sudden emotion that swept through me as I watched the tips of her fingers move lightly over his skull.

Carine's control was unrivaled—she could touch any of her human patients with never the slightest fear she would ever hurt them by accident.

My fingers flexed unconsciously, and it took all my concentration to keep my posture relaxed, to keep my sudden restlessness from showing. I was suddenly picturing myself, standing in Carine's place, gently running the tips of my fingers over his head, to make sure he wasn't hurt... How easy would it be to crush his skull by accident?

The thought had me sitting absolutely still, to stop the shudder from rippling down my spine.

He suddenly winced, despite her delicate touch, which brought me back to the present.

"Tender?" she asked softly.

He shrugged, nonchalant. "Not really."

I couldn't stop the low laugh that escaped me. I really thought I was starting to get to know how he thought, at least bits and pieces. He didn't like attention, he didn't like to make a big deal out of things. If he was hurt, he didn't like to have an audience. Though he wasn't at all concerned with proving how intelligent or tough he was, he didn't like to show weakness, either.

He glanced back at me, his expression still showing traces of annoyance, though it was more wary now, uncertain.

"Well," Carine said. "Your father is in the waiting room—you can go home with him now. But come back if you feel dizzy or have trouble with your eyesight at all."

"Can't I go back to school?" he asked. He sounded almost desperate.

Carine and I were both thinking the same thing—better to keep him from having contact with the other students for now, give things a chance to cool down and for me to circulate my version as much as possible first. But I wondered, what reason could he have for wanting to go back? Surely most would welcome any opportunity for a free afternoon, and for him, surely he would want to put off the inevitable attention as long as possible. Was he worried about his grades? He had to know after something like this the teachers would all cut him a fair amount of slack.

I turned my eyes back on him again, studying his face. Had I completely misjudged him? Was he eager to get to school so he could talk about the extraordinary things he had seen?

"Maybe you should take it easy today," Carine suggested, gently, but with a doctor's authority.

He glanced at me, almost accusingly. "Does she get to go to school?"

I smiled. "Someone has to spread the good news we survived," I said brightly.

Carine didn't react, but I could sense her surprise at my tone. She searched for the right word—Joking? Informal? We all normally kept a cool barrier of staunch politeness between us and the other students, above reproach, but not approachable. We didn't joke around or engage in verbal repartee, at least with our fellow students. Nothing that might make others feel more comfortable around us. My almost teasing tone seemed out of the ordinary.

She was right of course—at the moment, I was playing the part of a normal high school student, but it was a different part than I normally played. I was acting more like...more like what?

Myself? Like I acted around my family? That didn't seem quite right either.

Carine said, smiling a little, "Actually, most of the school seems to be in the waiting room."

I was confident I knew his likely response to this information, and he didn't disappoint.

"Ugh," he groaned.

"Do you want to stay?" Carine asked.

"No, no!" he answered quickly, emphatically, and he turned on the bed, getting to his feet a little faster than seemed safe, given how long he had been laying there. Predictably, he staggered.

I tensed, but I didn't need to worry as Carine was there, and she caught him.

Again, I felt that strange emotion, as her arms went out with no effort—so easy, so natural, without a hint of fear.

"I'm fine," he insisted before she could say anything, his face going slightly red—I looked away.

"Take some Tylenol for the pain," she said as he straightened, more careful this time.

He shrugged again. "It doesn't hurt that bad."

"It sounds like you were extremely lucky," she said, smiling as she signed his chart.

"Lucky Edythe just happened to be standing next to me," he said. He had turned his gaze back to me, to stare at me with penetrating eyes.

"Oh, well, yes," said Carine, and she understood his tone every bit as well as I did.

 _Good luck, Edythe,_ she thought. She turned her attention to Taylor, saying, "I'm afraid _you'll_ have to stay with us just a little bit longer..."

So, it was up to me now. Wonderful.

Almost as though he had read my mind, the moment Carine turned away, he came straight up to me.

"Can I talk to you for a minute?" he asked in a low voice. His face was set, determined.

He had never shown this much initiative before, and it made me uneasy, but more than that, when he leaned close I felt his warm breath wash across my face. I would have thought I would have to get used to it eventually—the agony of the burning appeal of his blood unlike any other—but every time the air touched the back of my throat it seemed to hit me like the first time. Overwhelming, enough to drive me insane. Venom rose in my mouth and the familiar images filled my mind, having the taste of the hot blood on my tongue—

I forced myself to take a step back, my jaw clenched.

"Your father is waiting for you," I said through my teeth.

He glanced toward Carine and Taylor—neither seemed to be paying us any mind, but I knew Carine was monitoring my every twitch.

 _Be careful, Edythe,_ Carine cautioned. _Gently._

Carine was right, of course—I was being too abrupt, and that made it seem all the more like I had something to hide. But I didn't see how I was going to conceal that now.

It took me a minute to get enough of a handle on my thirst to think clearly. I wanted to avoid this conversation, but it was clear I wasn't at liberty to do so. It had to happen eventually—it might as well be sooner rather than later.

Finally I turned away from him and strode swiftly down the length of the long room to the exit. The short hallway outside was empty—a good a place as any.

He fought to keep up with me, his footfalls stumbling and uncertain behind me. I didn't look at him, working myself up to what I knew I had to do.

It was obvious I wasn't going to talk my way out of this using logic, make him think he'd been seeing things. But he was quiet, mild-mannered—if I was just hostile enough, mean enough, I might be able to push him into backing down. He naturally shied away from conflict. So I was going to play the bad guy.

And this was going to be his last memory of me.

I turned sharply to face him. "What do you want?" I demanded, aggressive.

Just as I'd predicted, at my sudden antagonism he seemed to lose some of his nerve. However, he swallowed and said in a slightly wavering voice, "You owe me an explanation."

"I saved your life," I snapped. "I don't owe you anything."

He shrank back a little at the accusation in my voice, the resentment. He said quietly, "Why are you acting like this?"

"Beau," I said, injecting as much condescending derision into the use of the first name as I could, "You hit your head. You don't know what you're talking about." I wasn't trying to convince him he was delusional—I knew full well there was little hope of that. This was all about intimidation. To come across so angry he was afraid to press the subject any further—he didn't like confrontation, and I would use that.

"There's nothing wrong with my head," he said, weakly, but his eyes were carefully studying my expression. He knew my strange behavior was only more confirmation of the strange things he had seen today, not that he needed any.

I pushed harder—more anger, more hostility. As though the only thing I wanted in the world was to make him afraid to even talk to me.

"What do you want from me, Beau?" I said viciously, again using his first name like a weapon.

I expected him to wilt under my intensity—after all, how could he answer that? But for some reason, the open-ended question seemed to steady him.

"I want to know the truth," he said evenly. "I want to know why I'm lying for you."

It was a good answer, and a legitimate point, but I didn't let any sign of surprise or acknowledgment show on my face. I was committed to my bad-guy persona, and the only thing I could do was keep pushing, try to beat and bully him into backing down.

"What do you _think_ happened?" I said, with biting derision.

He hesitated. His eyes dropped for a moment. He had to know what he had to say sounded insane. Maybe he was finally done fighting—maybe I'd finally gotten through, and broken his determination.

However, when he looked up again, his gaze was steady, and when he spoke, the words came out fast and strong.

"I know you weren't standing next to me—Taylor didn't see you either, so it's not concussion damage. That van was going to crush us both—but it didn't. It looked like your hands left dents in the side of it—and your shoulders left a dent in the other car, but you're not hurt at all. The van should have smashed my legs, but you were holding it up..." He trailed off. He knew he'd said enough. He didn't speak angrily or defiantly, or wildly. His voice was calm, rational—just statements of fact.

My face was incredulous, but internally I was stunned. In those few moments of madness, he had seen absolutely everything, down to the last detail. It was no wonder I couldn't talk him into writing it off as head-trauma-induced hallucinations.

He was waiting for me to respond.

"You think I lifted a van off you?" I demanded, with convincing disbelief.

He didn't answer, only nodded.

I couldn't keep denying it anymore. It was pointless. But I still knew how to win this conversation.

I suddenly smiled, my lip curling into a sneer. "Nobody will believe that, you know." Just listening to his account of events, it was true, and we both knew it.

He looked down, shrugging. "I'm not going to tell anybody."

I blinked, and for a moment my mask slipped. I studied his face, and I knew at once that he meant it.

"Then why does it matter?" I asked in a low voice.

He straightened his shoulders. "It matters to me," he said, voice stronger, though still quiet. "I don't like to lie—so there'd better be a good reason why I'm doing it."

This seemed reasonable—more reasonable than I would have expected. Blindly lying for someone you barely knew when they refused to even give you a reason... When he put it like that, I could almost understand why he was so adamant. However, telling the truth was not an option.

"Can't you just thank me and get over it?" I asked harshly.

"Thank you," he said. He folded his arms, and seemed set to weather any more verbal attacks I directed his way. He was like a ship, tossed this way and that in turbulent waters, but he'd suddenly dropped anchor and now he was set to wait out the storm.

"You're not going to let it go, are you?" I said, my incredulity not entirely an act this time.

"Nope."

I let out a frustrated breath. I glared at him. Stubborn or not, it wasn't going to get him anywhere. Because even if I didn't owe it to my family to keep our secret, I wouldn't have told him anything. He could make up any old story about us for all I cared—because there was nothing worse, nothing more horrifying, than the truth. I was a monster from a nightmare.

"In that case...I hope you enjoy disappointment."

I glared at him, my face hard, furious. And I realized for the first time I really was furious—furious at the thought of him ever finding out the creature, the beast I really was, furious at the danger I had now exposed my family to, and furious for other reasons I couldn't begin to guess.

He gazed back into my face, studying my expression. At last he said quietly, "If you were going to be like this about it, why did you even bother?"

The question caught me off guard. I felt my mask, the role I was playing, slip, and the real anger faded. I stared at him, not sure how to answer. Maybe because it was the question I had been asking myself. Because it was the right thing to do? Because Carine said that every life was precious, worth protecting, and I wanted to do what she would have had me do if she had been there?

If I was being honest, I knew that wasn't true. If it had been Jeremy standing behind that truck, or McKayla, or even Allen Weber, nice a boy as he was—would I have done the same? Would I have raced across the parking lot, risked exposing my family and bringing the wrath of the Volturi down upon us to save them?

No. I wouldn't. Because as much as I might have regretted seeing a lost life when I might have done something to prevent it, I accepted that humans died all the time, and we couldn't interfere except in the ways Carine interfered, in _human_ ways. We couldn't risk the safety of our entire coven every time a human was in danger, I owed my family better than that.

But in that moment, when I crossed the parking lot, I knew I had chosen him over my family.

Why? He was just a human, and a stranger. Why had I done it?

"I don't know," I said at last, my voice no more than a whisper, and for once it was a completely honest answer.

I stared for a moment longer into his face, studying the way his brow furrowed with confusion, his mouth slightly turned down in a frown of thought. Then I turned and walked away, leaving him standing in the hall.

* * *

A/N: And, that's it for now. Next chapter is a fun one, definitely looking forward to working on it.

Thanks for reading, and for all your thoughts last chapter. If you have a moment, let me know what you thought, and see you next time! C:

Posted 6/19/18


	5. Visions

A/N: Hey guys! Back once again. (Thank goodness for normal-length chapters. I knew there had to be at least one or two in here.)

Thanks so much for reading and your comments last chapter! Hope you enjoy, and see you at the end! :J

* * *

Chapter 4: Visions

I went back to school. It was the responsible thing to do, the right thing to do to stay inconspicuous after my display today. It was the least I could do—even though the entire time I was burning to wander off and find him again.

By the end of the day, almost everyone was back in school, except of course Taylor and Beau, though they were both in the thoughts of many. Now that it seemed clear they were both going to be okay, there was a buzz of excitement surrounding the unusual events. Taylor was a fairly popular girl, and there was no question that, once she got back, everyone would want to hear her tell the story. No one seemed to remember her careless driving was the cause of all the trouble, and she was already established as a martyr. She would be in the spotlight for awhile, a place she didn't particularly mind.

Beau, similarly, had been elevated to the status of a hero—perhaps because I hadn't been carried off the scene on a stretcher, few seemed to recollect my involvement at all, which suited me just fine—and he would likely be ambushed when he came back tomorrow and begged to relive the story again and again. Unlike Taylor, he wouldn't enjoy one minute of it. The thought made me smile.

Except, I wouldn't be here to see that, because I was leaving tonight. Wasn't I?

But maybe it would be too suspicious for me to leave that quickly. Maybe I should wait a few days... Sow some seeds to lead up to my departure...

I knew I was doing exactly what I had been afraid I would do from the beginning. Putting it off with convenient excuses. Who knew how long I would stretch a few more days? How many more excuses I would find.

The day crept by with impossible slowness, and I began to wonder what was the matter with me. I felt lethargic and restless at the same time, and it was hard to concentrate. My thoughts kept returning to him, our last conversation. I had the most ridiculous impulse to go find him, to be where he was, or at least where I was close enough I could see his face in the minds of others.

Of course, I knew where he was. He was at home, where he lived with his father the police chief, as he should be. What was I going to do—go down and stake out his house?

I wondered again what on earth was the matter with me. Was this turning into some kind of obsession? Did I get some kind of high off torturing myself, putting myself so close to such irresistible blood when I had no intention of ever tasting any? Was I so set on cracking the code, unraveling the puzzle, that I wouldn't do the right thing and just leave? I needed to get a grip, and start acting like I should.

But even though I'd come to school, I was still failing to do my part, still neglecting part of my job. For about the stupidest reasons imaginable.

As I came into each of my classes, each teacher asked me how I was given the accident, and they asked about Taylor and Beau. It was the perfect opportunity—if I was going to spread the knowledge of his head injury, and begin laying the groundwork for undermining any credibility he might have for any wild story he might tell, now was the time to do it. _"Yeah, I think Taylor is fine...just some superficial scrapes from the windshield glass. Beau might have gotten a concussion—he was pretty out of it there at first, babbling and acting like he might be seeing things. When he woke up he seemed a little confused about what happened..."_

That was all it would have taken.

However, when the teachers spoke to me, I only averted my eyes and gave short, uninformative answers until they gave up.

I knew what I should do, but I just couldn't bring myself to do it. He'd said he wasn't going to tell anyone. To go behind his back now and tell people he'd hit his head and was having hallucinations felt just plain low. It was bad enough I'd had to lie to him about giving him an explanation, without piling on anything else.

Eleanor gave me a look as she took note of my lackluster responses to Mr. Goff as he asked me a few questions in Spanish. As Mr. Goff turned and returned to his desk to begin class, hardly satisfied with my lacking information, she informed me, _Roy is on the warpath. Watch out._

I rolled my eyes. Having Royal angry with me over something was nothing new.

She continued, _And Jessamine, too. I don't think she's as ticked, but she's already made up her mind to do something about all this, and she's not going to see any objections._

I saw in Eleanor's mind what she meant. What Jessamine intended to do.

Horror shot through me, up my neck and down to the tips of my fingers. Then the horror turned suddenly to a blaze of white-hot fury. The room swam, I saw nothing but red—and Jessamine's face, which I suddenly wanted to break.

I would have leaped to my feet and left the room right then, without so much as an acknowledgment to Mr. Goff, had not Eleanor's hand abruptly come down on my shoulder, gripping it hard, holding me in place.

 _Get a grip,_ she ordered. _Seriously, Edythe._

Of all of us, Eleanor was by far the strongest—even stronger than Royal, in spite of his impressive looks—and I didn't have a hope of out-muscling her.

She held me fast, gripping my shoulder in place rather than pushing down, where she probably would have broken the chair beneath me.

 _Calm down,_ she said.

I breathed deeply. But my fists were still clenched beneath my desk, so hard they could have crumpled tempered steel, and the tint of red hadn't fallen from my vision.

 _She isn't going to do anything until we've all had a chance to talk. Relax._

I didn't relax, but I gradually settled back down, and stopped straining against the iron grip of her hand.

 _You might think about not making yourself a spectacle at the moment,_ she thought. _At least more than you already have._

She cautiously withdrew her hand, still eying me warily, and I remained where I was. I took a deep breath.

I took a quick mental scan of the room, looking for anyone who might have seen our silent confrontation. A few people sitting behind Eleanor had noticed something, but from the outside it didn't look intense enough to warrant anything but a shrug of the shoulders. It was just yet another reminder of what freaks the Cullens were.

 _What's the matter with you, girl?_ she asked. _Usually you're the responsible one._

She wasn't expecting an answer and I didn't give one. Instead she said, her tone sympathetic, _You know, this is what happens when you try to fight nature._

Eleanor was the most easygoing of anyone in our family, and she'd already forgiven me for the risk I'd taken this morning. I should have been more grateful for that, but I didn't look at her. I knew she was leaning toward Jessamine's side—that she thought Jessamine's solution made the most sense.

The fury burned, just under my skin, barely in check. And I couldn't help but think, if it came to a fight between us, I would win. Eleanor had never beaten me in a bout of wrestling, in spite of her superior strength. She always said it was because I cheated—she was right. I cheated shamelessly, remorselessly. But accusing me of it did nothing to change the fact I never lost.

Some of my anger ebbed a little as I wondered if that was where this was really headed—a fight. Was I really prepared to fight my family over this? A human I barely knew?

I already knew the answer—I had already put them in danger to save him once. Unless I regretted that decision now—if I wished I'd held back and left well enough alone—my decision was already made. Besides, when I juxtaposed his soft, fragile human body next to my powerful, dangerous brothers and sisters, killing machines by nature—the choice of the right thing to do seemed obvious.

However, despite my mind-reading gift, which would give me an edge, I knew I couldn't win against the three of them—Jessamine, Royal, and Eleanor—alone. I would need allies. But who would side with me?

Carine, certainly. Although I knew she wouldn't physically fight anyone, she would be wholly against Jessamine's plan. The others listened to Carine, so her word alone might be enough to stop them.

Earnest—no, he would take no sides. He would be for any plan that kept our family intact. He would praise me for my kindness, but then he might try to convince me to think more about myself...what was best for me... Still, like Carine, he would not physically interfere, one way or another.

What Archie would do was a mystery. It would probably depend on what he foresaw happening—if he saw us ripping each other to shreds, he would probably take steps to prevent that. Maybe he would see it would be easier to subdue me than to fight three of the others, plus it would put a more final end to the problem. Would Archie betray me that way? If he saw it was the best alternative...

I felt my hands clench again into fists beneath the desk. There was a real possibility I was going to be totally alone. What could I do? I couldn't fight all of them on my own.

I didn't care. I'd do whatever I had to do.

What about running, then? I could grab him and take him somewhere safe. So long as I wouldn't be fighting Jessamine, Archie probably wouldn't interfere with that.

However, that course of action was fraught with potential hazards. Even if I knocked him out or put a sack over his head so he wouldn't know what was happening, I knew I couldn't stand being close to him for very long. I could try to deliver him back to his mother, perhaps, but it would be dangerous—I wasn't Carine, I couldn't handle humans with confidence and ease, not without risk of breaking them. Even if I didn't end up giving into my instincts, I could easily kill him myself by accident.

The thought made me feel cold, colder than I could ever remember feeling. And I knew I couldn't bear it.

When school let out, Eleanor and I were quiet as we headed to my car. She was worried. She, too, knew whose side she would have to choose if it came to a fight between Royal and me.

The others were already in the car, waiting for us. They were absolutely silent as I pulled out of the space and started off down the road.

The voices were silent, but the thoughts were unusually loud.

Royal was directing a constant stream of foul words in my direction, cursing me with every colorful expression he had accumulated over the years. No one had ever accused him of being a gentleman.

His mental voice was the loudest, but I could hear the others, too.

Jessamine was decided—no matter what the outcome of this meeting, she would take action.

Archie's thoughts were on Jessamine, worried about her. He was flipping through visions of her future. However, no matter which way she came at her target, Archie always saw me there, blocking her. I couldn't help but notice neither Royal nor Eleanor were there—apparently Jessamine intended to work alone. Maybe I would have a chance after all.

Jessamine was by far the best, most experienced fighter in our coven. The only reason I generally held my own in our mock fights was that I could always see how she planned to move next. However, we had never fought seriously before. If Jessamine was serious, how would that change the outcome? Could I still defeat her...?

My hands tightened slightly on the steering wheel, and I felt suddenly sick—sick at the thought of actually trying to hurt my own sister, the way I would an enemy. However, if she forced my hand, I wouldn't back down. My course was set.

I concentrated on Archie, memorizing all the possibilities of her avenues of attack. As I did so, the visions shifted, moving further and further from the Swan house as I cut her off earlier.

Archie knew what I was doing. _Cut it out, Edy. It's not going to turn out like that._

But he couldn't stop me from seeing what he saw, and I just kept watching.

He turned his attention to scanning farther ahead, into the misty, unsure realm of distant possibilities. Everything turned shadowy and vague.

The charged, heavy silence continued all the way home. As I parked in the garage, I saw Carine's Mercedes there, and I was glad—I knew exactly how this silence was going to end, and it was better that Carine should be here when it did. When the mortar fell, someone had to be the calm voice of reason.

We filed silently into the dining room. Though the dining room was never used for its intended purpose, it had become our unofficial conference room.

Carine was already there, waiting for us, and she took up her usual seat at the long mahogany table, at the head on the eastern side. Earnest took up his place beside her, and he reached over and took her hand, linking fingers on top of the table. Earnest's compassionate gold eyes were on me, full of the deepest concern.

 _Stay with us,_ he thought. It was his only thought.

I couldn't meet his eyes—he had always loved me more than I deserved, and there was nothing I could say to him, not when I was about to break up our family.

Wordlessly, I went to sit down at Carine's other side. Earnest reached around her to briefly place his free hand reassuringly on my shoulder. He didn't yet know what was about to start, but he could feel our tension.

Carine, on the other hand, already had a strong inclination of what was coming. She sat rigid in her seat, her shoulders tense, her brow clouded.

As everyone took up their positions, it was already clear who was on what side.

Royal took up the seat directly opposite Carine, at the other end of the long table. His eyes never moved from me, his face set in a fierce glare.

Eleanor took up a seat beside him, relaxed, but for a slight purse of her lips.

Jessamine hesitated, then silently went to stand against the wall just behind Royal. Taking a definite side, and yet remaining removed from it all. Her resolve was set.

Archie was the last. He wandered in, his eyes glazed over as he stared ahead into the future, still too vague and indistinct to make any sense of. Without seeming to pay attention to what he was doing, he flopped down in the chair next to Earnest. He rubbed his forehead, eyes still far away. Jessamine twitched uneasily, seeing Archie across the divide, but she held her place.

The room was silent for a long moment, and I realized, as the cause of all this, it was up to me to speak first. I took a deep breath, then looked up at the faces across the table.

"I owe you all an apology," I said softly. "I know what I did put you all at risk, and all I can say is I'm sorry for that, and I take full responsibility for my actions."

Royal glared at me, mouth pressed in a thin line. "So you're going to fix it?" he challenged.

I had to force myself to keep my expression calm, and my voice even. "I will take the steps necessary to keep this from getting out of control... Only I will not hurt anyone, or allow anyone to be hurt. I will leave immediately, if that will help."

"No," Earnest murmured, his eyes clouding.

I answered softly without looking at him. "It would just be a few years."

Eleanor shook her head. "That wouldn't help anything. We need you, girl, now more than ever—we need to know what people are thinking."

I shook my head in return. "You have Archie," I argued. "He'll see anything you need to, if you're ever in any danger."

Carine sighed slightly. "No, I think Eleanor is right, Edythe," she said softly. "If you leave, he will simply be that much more likely to talk, and that will be difficult for us to determine without you... Either we must all leave together, or none at all."

"He won't say anything," I insisted. "I'm sure of that." I turned to Archie. "Right?"

Archie sighed, still rubbing his forehead as if he had a headache. "I can't see that right now. I can't see what will happen if we just ignore this." His eyes drifted to Royal and Jessamine. Of course he couldn't see, not when they were so decided on what they were going to do.

Royal had been waiting to see how this conversation would play out, but now he seemed done being quiet. He sat up straight in his chair, thrusting back his powerful shoulders, looking suddenly very much like a king gazing out from his throne, powerful, intimidating. Without warning, he slammed a palm against the tabletop with a loud bang.

"We can't allow this human the chance to say anything," he said in a hard voice. "It's that simple. Even if we did make up our minds to go now, we can't afford to leave lingering stories behind us." He looked around the table, from one face to another, and finally his gaze rested on Carine. He continued in a low voice, "We live so differently from the rest of our kind—there are those who would relish any excuse to point fingers... To argue our chosen way of life is too dangerous to be allowed... We have to be more careful than anyone else."

"We've left rumors behind us before," I said evenly. "Why is this time any different?"

"We've never left an eye witness," Royal said coldly. "A _credible_ eye witness, who's seen more than anyone else. Enough he could raise a stir the moment he believed we were safely away. Enough that the Volturi might come to investigate—and who will they find as the cause?"

Jessamine was nodding slowly her agreement.

Carine's face was deeply troubled. Royal's gaze shifted to her, and he continued.

"It would be simple. The human hit his head today—I think you've worked with enough cases to know such an injury can often turn out to be more serious than it looked. He would simply go to sleep and never wake up."

Royal's gaze returned to me. His eyes were hard, mouth set. "Normally I would say this job ought to be left to the one who caused the mess. But in this case, I can volunteer. I have the necessary control, and I would leave no evidence behind."

Royal spoke steadily, calmly, and at the cool, utterly unconcerned look on his face, I felt my own calm demeanor crack. Fury shot through me, white-hot, and I heard myself say with all the spite and malice I could muster, "Right, I guess that kind of noble self-sacrifice _would_ suit you, Royal. Since we all _know_ what a proficient assassin you are."

His eyes blazed, but his face remained set, refusing to react. But I knew I'd struck a nerve.

"Edythe," Carine said softly, a gentle reprimand. Then she turned her eyes to Royal. "Those you killed before had wronged you terribly. But this boy—he is an innocent."

"Which is regrettable," Royal replied, voice cold. "But he's a danger, a threat to us. And if it's between us and him, we have to make a choice. I choose us."

Carine was silent for a long moment, her brow creased, troubled.

Royal took this as a cue to press his advantage. "At times things simply happen, and one has to take the necessary action. You don't have a choice."

Carine gazed back at him, and she didn't look away. "There is always a choice," she answered softly. Her eyes then moved slowly around the table, going from one face to the next. Her eyes were kind and understanding, yet firm, with absolute conviction.

"We all know there have been accidents," she said quietly. "Lapses in control. I'm afraid that risk is an unavoidable part of what we are. However, to murder a blameless child in cold blood...that is not something I can condone, no matter what the reason. I know your intentions may only be to protect us, Royal, but to protect ourselves at such a cost... it would make us into something unworthy of protection."

Royal's scowl was ferocious. In a low, disbelieving voice, he said, "You'd choose the life of one human boy over our family?"

Carine answered softly, gently. "If the choice is between our own continued existence, an existence which requires us to become monsters...to destroy rather than heal...then yes, I would rather cease to exist. Once we judge our own lives, or the lives of our own loved ones, of more value than those of others, then we will have lost something vital. Life is important, precious... but our lives are not so important they are worth sacrificing who we are to save them. It is not a choice between our family and the life of a human. It is a choice between existing in a way that lets us live without shame and regret, or not."

Royal let out a growl of a sigh and he stared down at the table, mouth still pressed in a line.

"The question," Carine said softly, "is whether or not the best course of action is to move on."

Royal growled. He always hated having to move, and starting off as a sophomore yet again. And he had been satisfied when we had chosen Forks—there were so many cloudy days we could almost act like normal humans, relatively speaking.

Carine read the sentiment and she added, "I think we don't have to decide just yet. Edythe seems certain the boy will stay quiet. Moving may not be necessary."

Royal snorted. His arms were folded, and his annoyance at having his strong recommendation so firmly put down was obvious. Occasionally his eyes shifted back to glare at me. However, he wouldn't go against Carine, and he seemed settled to go along with the decision.

Jessamine, however, still standing against the back wall, her arms folded, was unmoved. Images from her former life were flickering in her mind—the extreme violence and danger of constant war, along with the consequences of flouting the rules. She had lived for too many years in a place where survival came before all else, and required the utmost ruthlessness and brutality, to close her eyes to the obvious, most intelligent course of action.

"Jessamine," I said quietly.

Her eyes shifted from Carine to me. Her face held no emotion.

"I agree with Carine," I said.

Jessamine stared straight back at me. "This is not a question of morals," she answered. "The boy would have died today if not for your interference. He owes you his life—in a real way, you now hold the right to decide his fate. If you did choose to end his life now, you would be doing no more than was already meant to happen. However, I understand taking such action would be disturbing, troubling to you... You may leave me to take care of it."

I gazed straight into her eyes. I felt strangely calm. Decided.

"Then I suppose we will finally find out," I murmured. "Which one of us would win in a real fight."

Jessamine's mouth opened, but she said nothing, unable to mask her surprise. She'd known that, like Carine, I would be opposed to the plan. But this had never occurred to her—that I would fight to stop her.

At last, she shook her head once. "I won't let Archie live in danger, no matter how slight you believe it to be. Perhaps you have seen my memories, but you have not lived through anything like it. You have not experienced the destruction... When the Volturi come to clean up a mess, they are thorough. If they come, our family may not be the only ones in danger. The Volturi do not take into account guilt or innocence when it comes to protecting the secret, and the boy—and anyone he has told—would die anyway. It is so easy for situations like these to rage out of control. The wisest course of action is to contain this while it is still containable. The Volturi are not merciful—you don't have any comprehension of what they are capable of."

I stared back at Jessamine. "You're right," I said, my voice still composed. "Seeing your memories doesn't mean I understand what you've been through, Jess, or what interference by the Volturi really means."

I paused, and then I added, replying to the thoughts she had not spoken aloud, because I knew even as she spoke of the Volturi's thoroughness and destruction of entire towns, there was really only one thing that concerned her, "And you're right, I've never felt about anyone the way you do Archie—I'm not going to dispute that. But it doesn't change the fact that if you plan to harm Beau Swan, then you will have to go through me."

Silence. We gazed at each other, not glaring, but evaluating, calculating. Jessamine felt the mood around me, trying to determine how serious I was.

"Jess," Archie said casually, cutting into our thoughts.

Jessamine stared at me for a moment longer, then slowly turned to Archie.

"As entertaining as all this is, I've got a favor to ask."

My attention had shifted now automatically from Jessamine's mind to Archie's—and what I saw made my mouth fall open.

"That—" I began, shocked. "You can't be—"

"Hey," he said. "I don't make this stuff up, I just see it." His eyes turned back to Jessamine. "Thanks for the thought, Jess, really, but I'd appreciate if you backed down on this one. First, because we all know Edy doesn't fight fair and if it comes to a fight—which it will, if you push her—it'll get real ugly, real fast. Second, because it so happens that Beau, my man, is my best bud." He flashed a dazzling smile and crossed two fingers together. "We're like _this_ , Beau and me—or at least, we will be."

I could only stare at the image in his head with disbelief. Archie, with a cold arm draped casually around his warm, fragile neck. Archie was grinning broadly, and Beau was grinning sheepishly, embarrassed, but pleased. Archie's visions usually had a degree of certainty or uncertainty, depending on the strength of the decisions involved. This vision was rock solid—only the timing was uncertain.

Jessamine stared at him, her eyes wide with shock. "But..." she began slowly, uncertainly.

"Best friends," Archie said, grinning. "It's going to be great—if someone doesn't murder him before that." He raised an eyebrow at her. "Really hoping that doesn't happen."

For the first time, Archie's visions for possibilities of the immediate future flickered as Jessamine's resolve wavered, then a new one opened up.

"Ah," he sighed. "There it is, finally. No, Beau's not going to say anything, that's certain."

It was so strange—hearing him saying his name with such familiarity, as if they already knew each other, already great friends. Even I couldn't say his name like that.

"I don't understand," I said, shaking my head. "How could this...? How could you and he...?"

Archie shrugged. "I told you things were changing. Something major is coming..."

He paused, and very suddenly all his attention was riveted on Jessamine's future. However, Jessamine was still trying to process in light of this new unexpected information, and she was making no decisions.

I knew what Archie was doing. He was trying to shut me out. Keep me from seeing something he didn't want me to see.

"What is it?" I demanded, urgent, trying to imagine what could be so bad. "Show me."

He shook his head, face a mask of concentration as he focused determinedly on Jessamine's future. The others watched the partial mental conversation with a mixture of apprehension and, in Eleanor's case, exasperation.

"Is it him?" I insisted. "Is it about—Beau Swan?"

Archie's focus was strong, but at the mention of the name, he slipped. A single image appeared in his mind.

I froze. I couldn't move, couldn't breathe—only stare at him in open horror. I wasn't aware I'd gotten to my feet until I heard the clatter of my chair hitting the linoleum floor behind me. I was shaking.

"Oh no," I whispered. "Oh, please."

"It's solidifying," Archie said quietly. "Every minute, it's more decided. There's only two ways left for him now. It's one...or the other."

I felt weak, and I had to brace myself against the table. "Oh no," I murmured again. "Please."

"Don't mind us," Eleanor muttered. "We'll just keep sitting here, having no clue what you guys are going on about. That's just fine."

I shook my head, trying to get my bearings.

"I...I have to leave," I said unsteadily. "I have to leave right now."

Eleanor groaned loudly. "We just had this conversation two minutes ago. That's the best way to start the kid talking, and we won't know if he _is_ talking unless you're here to tell us. You've got to stay and deal with this."

"You aren't going to leave," Archie said. "Even if that would somehow help, you don't have the will. Really think about it—think about leaving and you'll see what I mean."

I did see. The thought was almost unendurable—nowhere to go, nothing to do...nothing but emptiness. Everything that held any interest for me was here. But there was no other choice. Not if, in his future, my presence would give him only two options—two absolutely sick, horrifying options.

Archie pushed harder. _Besides, you can't be sure of Jess. If you leave, if she thinks he's a danger to us—_

I shook my head. "I don't see that." Jessamine's resolve had weakened, and she was almost completely committed to not acting. She would never do anything to hurt Archie.

 _Maybe he's not in any danger now,_ Archie insisted. _But what about four, five months down the road? Are you just going to leave him? Anything could happen. If you're not going to make sure he stays okay, who will?_

I was still trembling slightly. The horror and revulsion were creeping through me like a poison. "Why?" I whispered. "Why are you doing this to me?" I felt sick. Trapped. There was supposed to be a choice, wasn't there? A way to do the right thing? But all I could see was wrong.

 _He's going to be my friend,_ Archie thought. _Already is, in my mind. I may not need him like you do, but friends are friends._

"Need him?" I whispered, incredulous. " _Need_ him?"

Archie sighed and shook his head. _Come on, Edy. I can't believe you don't see it. Where you're headed...no, where you already are. You can't stop it now. Look._

The images flooded his mind, the future—I shook my head rapidly, trying to shut them out. "No," I gasped. "No, it's not going to happen that way. I have a choice—I'll change it."

"You can try," he said doubtfully.

"Can we make a new rule?" Eleanor cut in. "Conversations either happen all the way out loud, or not at all."

"I don't think it's that hard to follow," Royal said. He was looking at me, his lip curled with disgust. "Archie sees her falling in _love_ with that human boy." He shook his head with contempt. "I wish I could say I'm surprised, but you always did seem to look for ways to make yourself more strange than you already are."

I didn't answer. His voice felt far away—my head felt like it was underwater. I couldn't think.

Eleanor blinked, then laughed out loud. "Oh, is _that_ what's been going on? Wow, that is hilarious. I wondered why my responsible older sister was suddenly acting like an asylum escapee. Wow, sorry girl, that's rough."

"Fall for a human?" Earnest repeated in a murmur, shocked. "For that boy she saved today...fall in love with him?"

"What exactly is it that you see, Archie?" Jessamine asked quietly.

Archie turned toward her.

"It depends," he said, shrugging. "This will go one of two ways. Either Edy won't be strong enough to resist his blood, and she'll kill him herself—or she _will_ be strong enough, and eventually, someday...he'll be one of us."

Silence. No one spoke.

I was slowly gaining back my strength, and I glared at him. "That's not going to happen. Either one."

Archie ignored me. "It's going to be close. The chances of either one happening are about dead even. It'll take every ounce of restraint, of control—even a moment's lapse could be fatal for him. She might be strong enough, just strong enough, to do it. But she won't be able to stay away from him—that's already a lost cause."

I wanted to argue. I had a choice—I had to believe that, or how could I exist in this world? However, I couldn't seem to speak.

No one said anything, and the silence lengthened. They all stared at me, and I could see my stunned, horrified face from five different viewpoints, all except for Archie, who continued to look ahead into the future, thoughtful.

Finally, Carine sighed and sat forward a little. "Well, this certainly complicates things. However, it still has no bearing on our immediate plans. We will remain here and watch. Obviously, no one will harm the boy."

"I can agree to that," Jessamine said in a low voice. "If Archie sees only two ways, then..."

"No," I whispered, my voice barely audible, but everyone heard it. _"No."_

I pressed a shaking hand to my head. I couldn't take it anymore—their thoughts and feelings swirling like a storm inside my mind. Royal's contempt, Eleanor's amusement, Archie's confidence, Jessamine's confidence in that confidence, Earnest's suddenly buoyant, radiating pleasure on my behalf... Even Carine's never ending compassion.

I turned and strode from the room without another word.

I sprinted over the grass, as swift and silent as a ghost. In seconds I had cleared the river and the dark forest swallowed me. The rain had begun to fall again, and it came down in a heavy torrent, drenching my hair and soaking my clothes clear through to the skin. A human would have found it uncomfortable, cold—but I didn't mind. I welcomed the heavy sheet falling all around me, insulating me from the rest of the world, allowing me, for once, the luxury of being alone inside my head.

I didn't stop. I kept running, and running, thinking of nothing except the forest racing past me, and the feel of the rain on my skin, the fresh smell of plants and pure mountain air.

I didn't stop until I saw the lights—Seattle, in the far distance. I slowed to a halt just before I reached the borders of human civilization, before their voices could reach me.

There was nowhere to run anymore, and I leaned against a tree as the emotions, the knowledge of the terrible thing I had done, threatened to swallow me.

The images once again flashed through my mind. First, the one of him and Archie—friends. I wondered how much he knew in that moment, the way he fearlessly had an arm around Archie's shoulder, unafraid.

Then the image shifted, morphing into Archie's other vision. No longer was the boy simply Beau Swan, the slightly uncoordinated son of the police chief, his wide eyes a deep sky blue. His face wasn't red with annoyance or embarrassment. Instead, his skin was white as alabaster and hard as marble, and he looked out from the vision with irises a shocking crimson. His old way of life gone, at an end—as if he had died. The questions raged inside me, questions Archie's visions could not answer—how had it happened? How did he feel, to know his life had been stolen from him? Had he had any choice?

However, the image in my head shifted once again, to the last and final vision, and the one most horrifying of all—

My own eyes, deep crimson with human blood. His pale, broken form in my arms, drained of all life. The vision was so concrete, so clear—every bit as clear as the other.

I tried not to think it, to push it from my mind—but still it lingered, rock solid, and some part of me I did not want to acknowledge was in ecstasy at the thought, of the taste of the exquisite blood in my mouth, giving in at last to the experience a sick, monstrous part of me craved...

I buried my face in my hands, and a dry sob ripped itself from my throat. I had destroyed everything, mutilated his future—all the possibilities in his life, and I had narrowed them down to two, two ghastly choices that were not choices at all.

Somehow, without asking for it, I now held his fate in my hands. What had he ever done to deserve this? All he had done was come to Forks, simply because he wanted his mother to be happy.

I lifted my face from my hands, and I gazed out into the sheeting rain, and the lights of the city in the distance. I breathed deeply in and out, and after a moment, I felt my despair turn to resolution.

Just because Archie said it didn't mean I had to abide by his visions. What he saw was based on our decisions, our choices. Just because a choice was hard, unlikely, didn't mean it was impossible. Our family was living proof of that. Wasn't that what Carine taught me? That we were capable of making choices, of being what we chose to be?

I solidified my resolve, setting my course. Changing the future would take control, discipline, sacrifice. But I was ready for it now. I had a choice, and no one was going to take it away from me.

* * *

A/N: When I initially read the Midnight Sun rough draft for the first time, I didn't remember a lot of the details Edward had already mentioned in Twilight, as far as all the events leading up to what eventually happens from his side. So the family meeting scene took me by surprise.

It may be one of my favorite scenes from Midnight Sun—much as I love to see the Cullens all working together as one team, I love seeing the conflict between them, which shows they're each people of their own with separate ways of seeing the world. And even though from Bella's perspective they might all seem like heroes of the vampire world, that's really not always necessarily the case.

Thanks so much for reading, and your comments last chapter! If you have a moment, let me know what you thought, and see you next time! C:

Posted 7/9/18


	6. Invitations

A/N: Hey there! Back once again. C:

Long chapter again this time. Much longer than the original Midnight Sun chapter, but considering how important it is, I really felt like it needed it. (The conversations have been the trickier part of this project, mainly because I feel like the rough draft for Midnight Sun often left them somewhat skeletal, without always incorporating very much information that felt new or surprising. I guess that's the problem with writing a story from one point of view, then trying to go back and look at it from the other side—making it feel like a story of its own versus just a mechanical replaying of the same events yet again doesn't always fold out naturally.)

Thanks so much for reading so far, and for all your thoughts! Hope you enjoy, and see you at the end! :J

* * *

Chapter 5: Invitations

Life went back to normal.

I was being extra responsible now, to make up for my erratic behavior. Of course I had to stay in Forks—as they had pointed out, I was the lookout, and it was my responsibility to be there. Once again I was the perfectly polite, model student, and every day I sifted through hundreds of thoughts looking for any new gossip about the Cullens. But of course, there was nothing.

I made sure to hunt regularly, but no more than the others. I attended every class, did every assignment, and achieved perfect scores on every in-class test. I listened to see if he said anything new about the accident, but he only repeated my story, again and again until people got bored of hearing it.

Everything seemed set to go entirely back to normal—except for the fact I was in complete and all-consuming misery.

I'd always found going to high school and playing my role tedious. I'd often longed for sleep, anything to make the time go faster. But it was nothing like now—like I was trapped in my own personal hell.

I got through the first day telling myself the first day would be the hardest. It didn't take me long to realize that was pure delusion.

It was hard to ignore someone who was the focus of all your thoughts. I was beginning to see why Archie had been so confident in only two possible outcomes—I was like a far-gone alcoholic or chain smoker, claiming I wasn't addicted, that I could quit anytime I wanted, but the moment I did I was in instant withdrawal. But I still believed I had a choice, and my willpower could win out so long as I kept my focus on what was important—letting him have a future different from those he had been condemned to in Archie's visions.

Of course, it would have been only too easy to forget Archie's visions, and do what I felt like doing. And the unfortunate possible would-be victim in all this didn't make it any easier.

On the first day back, when he came into Biology and took his place beside me, he said in an unusually warm, friendly voice, "Hey, Edythe."

It was a one-eighty switch from our last encounter at the hospital, and the desire to find out what it meant was nearly overpowering. Did this mean he was over the fact I had lied to him? Had he finally decided he must have imagined the whole thing? Or had he just decided to be patient?

I was burning to ask, to just talk to him. But if I was going to change the future, I could not afford to have even one lapse.

So I simply moved my chin an inch in his direction and nodded once without moving my eyes, barely acknowledging him.

He did not speak to me again.

It bothered me—in that conversation at the hospital, I'd acted furious, resentful, did everything I could to beat him down. So with my attitude now, he probably thought I was still angry, still annoyed. He was probably still worrying over it—he didn't like lingering feelings of hostility, after all. He probably would have wanted to clear the air somehow, even if he was still frustrated with me for not giving him an explanation like I promised.

However, it was better this way. Better there be some kind of barrier between us. He might feel a little uncomfortable, but it was nothing to the alternatives.

So I kept telling myself.

That first day, the moment I was out of school, I ran through the mountains all the way straight to Seattle, as I had done the previous day. I was too wound up, too restless to keep still, and it all seemed slightly more bearable with everything around me nothing but a blur, the feeling of the wind against my face and my head empty of all thoughts but my own.

The run became my daily ritual—a time to clear my head, and renew my resolve, which always seemed to weaken over the course of every long, unbearable day.

Was I in love? I didn't think so, at least not yet. But now that Archie had pointed it out, I knew without a shadow of a doubt that that was exactly where I was heading.

I was already falling—irresistibly, like the pull of gravity drawing me to earth. It was natural, like following the flow of the tide. _Not_ falling in love was the opposite—like trying to swim upstream against the current, like fighting gravity, had I no more than mortal strength.

More than a month passed. And I was dismayed to realize I'd been more than wrong about the first day being the hardest—in fact, it was the easiest. The easiest, because every day got progressively worse. The pull of gravity seemed to vastly increase, trying to pull me in with greater and greater force. Some days I was nearly deranged, and I was almost on the point of changing my mind—and then I would run again, and remind myself of Archie's visions and how my selfishness would destroy his future, and I would have strength—just enough strength—to last through another day.

I ignored him completely. Even when he was sitting next to me, barely a foot from where I sat, I never looked his way, never even glanced at him.

Just accomplishing that much took all my self-control, all my discipline—it took every bit of my concentration to appear to be completely oblivious to someone who held every thought, who constantly had my complete attention.

I was constantly intensely aware of him, tormented by the thirst, and my never abating, raging curiosity. I was in the habit of simply never breathing in Biology—except, there were always those times I had to take in some air through my mouth to answer a question from the teacher, and the fire would sear down my throat, filling me with all the dark, primal desires of my instincts and threatening to turn me into a savage beast with only a hint of reason, just like the first day.

The curiosity was almost as hard to endure, and it was even more constant. Every twitch, every movement—when he sighed, or tapped a finger on the desk. I listened to every conversation he had with other students, and I gazed at his face through their minds, trying to decipher his expressions.

How often did he speak his real thoughts, or was he just saying what he thought other people wanted to hear? I knew he didn't like to lie, but he seemed to have ways of saying things that were true, but not the full truth. He seemed to always hold things back, keep some things to himself. Was that because he was trying to be tactful, because he didn't like confrontation or lingering feelings of animosity? Or was it simply he didn't want to let anyone get close?

He didn't smile very much, and if he laughed, it was a quiet, reserved sound, more out of sociability and politeness than real humor. The way he kept others at arm's length, never showed his emotions, never got angry or joked around or complained about his problems—it almost reminded me of us. But it was strange. While we had reason to stay on the outside, keep ourselves apart, he was just a normal teenager. He didn't have any reason to keep apart. Did he?

The thirst and the curiosity, my two old torments, both of which I was long used to. However, there was soon a new torment to add to the list—and her name was McKayla Newton.

McKayla was about everything someone might ask for in a normal teenage girl. She was responsible and got good grades, so the teachers liked her. She was smart enough she was by no means considered a ditz, but not so smart she was relegated to the nerd category, like their other friend Erica. She was athletic, and legitimately friendly—outgoing enough that she was considered fun to be around and involved in all the social events, but not pushy or domineering. She was also considered very pretty, for a human. In other words, she was quite popular among the boys at school. However, she only seemed interested in Beau.

Of course, I knew a little more about McKayla than the average member of the student body. She was not so nice as she might have pretended—she had a surprisingly broad vocabulary of curse words she had picked up from rugged hikers and trail-goers at her parents' sporting goods store, which she mentally used liberally in reference to Erica, and now Taylor, her would-be rivals. She also had a proclivity for concocting the silliest fantasies, particularly elaborate princess-prince scenarios, with Beau naturally always cast as the prince. She wrote about Beau in her diary, analyzing every little thing he did to find out if he liked her—though her image of him was more like the prince from her fantasies than any actual living boy on earth—and there was also a section at the back of her school notebook where she had written _McKayla Swan_ in fancy cursive over and over again, though she was careful not to let any of her friends see it.

In other words, she was your average, normal teenage girl. With a penchant for romantic silliness perhaps, but cute, reasonably smart, and nice enough without being so nice as to be boring. A good catch for any boy of her grade.

I despised the ground she walked on.

Of the ten girls I counted with a particular interest in him, and those few with the nerve to openly vie for his attention, McKayla spent the most time with Beau. Over time, she grew more confident that she was the one he preferred. And she had good reason—he didn't seem as comfortable talking to Erica, and where Taylor was concerned, even if Taylor didn't seem to be aware of it, he seemed to try to avoid like the plague. Taylor was still apologizing for the accident and offering ways to make it up, and it was obvious he dearly wished she would forget about it.

As McKayla's confidence increased, she got so she routinely came to sit on his side of the table before Biology, and she would chatter about something or other, encouraged by the way he would give her his full attention, occasionally smiling a little or nodding. As for her attitude toward me, she basically considered me a non-entity, hardly a threat. She had been worried in the beginning—first when I had been so unusually friendly that second day in Biology, and then she had been worried again after the accident, that we might have formed some kind of bond over the shared trauma. But now she was satisfied everything was back to normal, with me ignoring him as thoroughly as everyone else and finally acting like a Cullen again. She had completely dismissed me as a real rival.

During those few minutes before Biology, very often I amused myself by picturing myself getting up and backhanding her across the room into the far wall. Not hard enough to be fatal...maybe just a short trip to the hospital, a few stitches and splints...

Unfortunately, as McKayla was with him more often than the others, and her thoughts were more often focused on him, she generally made the best set of eyes through which to watch him. Additionally, because she was legitimately interested in finding out more about him, she asked him a lot of questions, and it was through these conversations I began to learn things I never knew, for which I was simultaneously grateful and frustrated.

Very much the way he answered my questions that second day in Biology, seemingly out of politeness, he answered McKayla's questions, too. He never said anything too personal—McKayla wasn't nearly so rude or demanding as I had been—but he talked more about himself than I'd ever heard, which he rarely did around the others, such as Jeremy, who was generally more interested in talking about himself.

These conversations went a little ways to feed the unreasonable, burning curiosity, but the fact it was McKayla was both depressing and aggravating. The fact that _she_ was the one getting to know him, and I was no more than a spectator, the fact _she_ was the one he was speaking to, the one he was making an effort to answer—it was all I could do to keep myself from doing something extreme.

After so many weeks of this, I knew I should have eventually come to a point of resignation. Eventually, I ought to cease to care what McKayla Newton was thinking or scheming. But I couldn't. Even as I sat ignoring him, I couldn't stop picturing myself being the one to ask the questions, taking note of the subtleties in his expressions that McKayla missed and forming a more accurate picture of the person he was, and asking better, more specific questions. Maybe that was why it kept getting harder.

However, far worse than McKayla was my last and final torment, which occasionally seemed to plague me more than the other three combined.

After that first day, he ignored me, as completely as I ignored him. He never tried to speak to me again.

The irony was that this should have made it easier. Surely if he had kept trying to restore us to the status of at least friendly acquaintances, then it would have been harder to keep from looking at him, to act like he didn't exist. Instead, it was like a physical pain—the uncertainty, the sense that he had decided he didn't care that I existed, had no desire to talk to me again, and was probably relieved and happier now that he didn't have to worry about the prospect of talking to me. The pain was so deep that there were moments I was almost in danger of giving up my resolution—of just turning, and making a polite comment, just so he would turn and look at me.

However, I knew he hadn't forgotten me. Because sometimes he would still turn, and stare, like before—across the cafeteria, across the school parking lot, right toward me. Archie was always sure to warn us when he did, as the others were still wary of his problematic knowledge.

I never looked at his face directly, but I watched him through the eyes of others, and as always, I wondered what he was thinking. Probably still wondering exactly what I was, and if he was ever going to get his explanation.

"Oi," Archie muttered, one Tuesday in March just loud enough only we could hear him. "Time to look normal again."

By now, everyone knew what he meant— _he_ was about to look in our direction. They all shifted, fidgeting a little just enough to look human. Absolute stillness was a marker of what we were.

Archie sighed audibly. _This really sucks, you know. I didn't know you could be so stubborn. You'll be happy to know you've got the future all tied up in knots again. You know, if we don't end up becoming friends, it'll be like_ losing _a friend. How will you make it up to me?_

I was sitting at the table with my arms folded and my legs crossed, and I didn't reply. I wasn't in the mood for this kind of conversation just now. In fact, I was so tightly wound, I was surprised Archie and the others didn't feel it radiating off me in waves. Jessamine did feel it, with her unique ability to sense the moods of others—but I was in such a poor humor all the time these days that she disregarded it.

Every day was progressively harder from the last, but today was likely to be an exponential spike downward.

McKayla Newton—who once upon a time I had viewed generally as a relatively nice girl, as teenage girls go, but I had come lately to see was a silly, fairly useless girl with absolutely no redeeming qualities—had plans to ask Beau to the school dance.

The dance was girl's choice. At the moment she was a little upset, and in a bit of a quandary. Jeremy had told her that Beau had said he didn't do school dances. McKayla had been working up to asking him for weeks, and this news came as a shock. She realized that if Beau wouldn't go, she would have to ask someone else—she didn't want to miss the dance altogether—and Jeremy had hinted he would be available to go.

However, it occurred to her that Jeremy may have been lying, if he was trying to get McKayla to ask him instead. She was angry at the very thought—but she also knew she couldn't know that for sure.

So at the moment she was torn between hurt at Beau apparently refusing to go to the dance, angry at Jeremy for possibly lying about what Beau had said for his own ends, and nervous at the prospect of trying to get it all sorted out. The night before she had been too embarrassed at the prospect of asking Beau if he really didn't attend any dances, and almost decided she would avoid the whole thing and just ask Jeremy. Then she had pictured Beau showing up at the dance with some other girl, and then him finding out she had just taken Jeremy's word like a coward—and that had made up her mind. She'd been up half the night screwing up her courage and planning out exactly what she would say.

I was tense and coiled as a loaded spring. Whatever conversation Beau and Jeremy had had—if they'd had it at all—I had missed it, so I was as much in the dark as McKayla. Had Beau really said he didn't do dances, or had Jeremy made that up? Or if he _had_ said he didn't want to go to the dance, would he change his mind when McKayla asked him?

I wanted to sigh at myself. To think it had all come to this—utterly absorbed in the petty high school dramas I'd once held in such contempt.

McKayla was going over what she would say for the thousandth time as she walked with Beau to Biology, steadying herself, working up her nerve.

She sat down on the edge of our table again, again going over what she would say, reminding herself Beau probably wouldn't like a girl too wishy-washy to make it clear how she felt.

I had to admit, under normal circumstances, I probably would have had to have some respect for the girl. But it was hard to respect someone when you were suddenly wishing you could send them flying across the room hard enough to break most of the bones in their body.

 _Just say it!_ McKayla shouted at herself.

"So," she said, eyes on the floor, trying to make her voice nonchalant, but not quite succeeding. "Jeremy said that you don't do dances."

He shrugged. "Yeah, that's true."

I should have relaxed then, but I didn't. He always had a way of pulling out the completely unexpected during a conversation, and McKayla wasn't done.

McKayla finally forced herself to look up. Her face was pink, and her emotions were all in a jumble. She was still mad at Jeremy, in spite of the fact he was now seemingly vindicated. There was a chance Beau was just covering for him—he was such a nice guy, after all.

"Oh," she said. "I thought maybe he was making it up." She watched his expression carefully, and I watched his expression through her eyes.

He looked bewildered. "Uh, sorry, no. Why would he make up a story like that?"

McKayla frowned, and decided honesty was the best policy. "I think he wants me to ask him."

"You should," he said. "Jeremy's great." His mouth stretched into a smile, but it looked painful.

McKayla immediately picked up on the false note in the expression, and her hopes rose. "I guess," she said slowly, making her voice deliberately unenthusiastic.

 _You have to ask him straight out, or you'll regret it the rest of your life!_ she told herself, with her usual teenage melodrama.

She took a deep breath, then looked up, and she smiled nervously. "Would this 'I don't dance' thing change if I was the one asking you to go?"

I probably would have respected her. In another life. If I wasn't suddenly imagining myself reaching over and breaking all her fingers.

I was so tense waiting for his response, without meaning to, I unconsciously tilted my head slightly in their direction.

He was silent, and in that moment, it struck me. Like a hammer blow to the chest.

What had me so concerned about this girl? What did it matter if he went to the silly dance with her or not? Maybe he secretly liked her, maybe he didn't, but even if he didn't choose her, eventually he would choose someone. Once again I saw flickers of that future I had imagined—college, career, a wife and children.

Something cold and sharp seemed to pierce straight through me, and all at once I was filled with a storm of emotion, grief and rage and regret—They screamed inside my mind, and suddenly, as I pictured this girl as the wife in that future, all my petty resentments turned to blackest hatred. I wanted to take her skull between my hands and crush it to powder, and for any other girl who might dare approach see the warning and flee while she was still able.

I didn't understand the emotion that filled me now—I couldn't remember ever feeling anything like it, not so powerful. It was like my longing for his blood—a monster, an ugly part of myself I didn't want to see.

He finally answered. "Um, sorry, again."

McKayla's disappointment was crushing. She couldn't help but ask, "Would it change if someone else asked you?"

McKayla had sharper eyes than I'd given her credit for. She'd seen the way I'd inclined my head toward them, as if I were listening, and now her eyes darted to me, suddenly suspicious.

A flicker of an emotion colored her thoughts, and as I felt it, I realized with surprise that it was the same emotion—my unexpected emotion. Not so powerful, not so violent, but it had the same flavor.

Jealousy. Envy. That was my new monster. Not that I hadn't felt it before—not that I probably hadn't been pricked by it all along—but this was the first time I'd put a name to it. Before, they had just been irritated bits here and there, immature—now the monster had progressed suddenly and abruptly into adulthood, fully grown and utterly repulsive.

Remorse flooded through me at the vicious thoughts the monster had sent through my mind. I knew without a doubt that if there were a second version of me sitting nearby listening to my own thoughts, I would be so appalled I would probably want to kill her. No, I would probably consider it my duty to remove her from the world as soon as possible as a likely hazard to public safety. For all my derisive thoughts concerning McKayla's silly fantasies, they were all relatively harmless. She wasn't daydreaming about breaking anyone's face, or hurling them up against brick walls—at least most of the time. She wasn't constantly fighting instincts to murder him and drink his blood. Of all the girls in this school who daydreamed about getting Beau's attention, innocent girls as soft and naïve as sheep, I was the prowling wolf.

"No," he said, answering McKayla's question. He added, a little too quickly, "It's a moot point anyway. I'm going to be in Seattle that day."

The tone of his voice didn't sound quite right. I couldn't help but suspect he had come up with this trip on the spot, as a convenient excuse to soften the blow of his refusal.

"Does it have to be _that_ weekend?" McKayla asked. Now that her defeat was certain, she seemed to have gotten a sudden burst of courage—like a soldier on the battlefield, whose commander had just informed the troops the battle was lost. A final blaze of glory before falling with the rest of the slain.

"Yeah," he said, sounding apologetic. "But don't worry about me. You should take Jeremy. He's much more fun than I am."

McKayla's last burst of courage failed her, and once again she was crushed.

"Yeah, I guess," she mumbled. She turned and drifted dejectedly back to her seat, slumping down in her chair. The conversation played again in her mind and, depressed, she wondered if really Beau liked her after all, as she had been so sure he did, or if it was someone else.

McKayla was staring down at her desk, no longer looking at him, so I could no longer see his face.

My thoughts were scattered, my emotions all over the place—I was relieved he had turned McKayla down, but my mind was also still full of the imagined future. The normal human wife and children, and the mix of longing and anger—jealousy—that filled me when I thought of it.

Above all, I wanted to know what he was thinking.

Slowly, deliberately, knowing I was undoing all my efforts all these weeks, I turned my head to look at him.

It was the first time I had looked at his face with my own two eyes since we'd spoken at the hospital a month and a half ago. The relief was immediate and profound—like a first gasp of air, after being submerged underwater.

His eyes were closed and he had his fingers pressed hard against his temples. He looked clearly agitated, upset.

I stared at him intently as I tried to interpret the look. His smiles had seemed forced, strained throughout the conversation, when he had told McKayla she should go with Jeremy. It occurred to me—maybe Jeremy _had_ asked Beau for help setting him up with McKayla. And Beau had agreed, saying he would turn her down if she asked, and even going so far as to set up the Seattle trip as an excuse and putting in a good word for Jeremy. But maybe, secretly, Beau _did_ prefer McKayla, did want to go to the dance with her, but he'd decided to step aside for Jeremy. Either because he didn't want to start a fight or, more likely, he always put other people's needs ahead of his own. Wouldn't that be just like him?

I felt a sudden, intense dislike for Jeremy—how selfish could he be, when it was obvious who McKayla liked most? What right did he have to ask Beau to step aside, when he knew Beau was so generous and thoughtful he'd do it without a second thought?

I quickly pushed the thought back. I didn't know that was going on—I had no idea what he was thinking. As usual.

Mrs. Banner spoke, beginning class, and Beau's eyes finally opened. As he lifted his head, his eyes immediately met mine, and he blinked, startled at my stare. He didn't look away, just continued to stare back, bewildered after my weeks of not even acknowledging his existence.

I felt strange. Elated. I was almost jittery with something like excitement. I was suddenly soaring on a high—as if I had triumphed, rather than lost.

I could see my own reflection in his wide blue eyes. My expression was too intense, and my eyes were black with thirst—perhaps not the best day for my willpower to wilt and crumble. Especially since, as he stared back at me, his face began to color.

I wanted to ask what he was thinking, but just then Mrs. Banner called my name.

"Miss Cullen?" she said. _I think Mr. Cope must be right, she must really have something against him, though I can't imagine what. Look at her, glaring at him again... I better do something to break them up, poor Mr. Swan looks as though he could use rescuing._

It took all my willpower to pry my eyes away from his face long enough to glance briefly at the front of the room. I had completely missed the question, but I picked the answer from her head.

I sucked in a quick breath. "The Krebs Cycle," I said.

The thirst burned down my throat, venom filling my mouth. The hollow ache in my stomach was suddenly nearly overpowering. I closed my eyes, trying to concentrate through the thirst, the hunger.

The thirst felt stronger than before—perhaps because once again there were only two possible futures, and in one of them the beast inside me that longed to taste his blood in my mouth won. My attempt to create a third option had failed—brought down by a brand new ugly brute inside me. Raging, out-of-control jealousy.

I remembered again what this meant, his being down to merely two options—and I suddenly felt sick with guilt at my weakness. But I knew now I simply wasn't strong enough. I couldn't change the future.

Knowing the battle was lost, there seemed little point not giving in to exactly what I wanted. So I turned to stare at him again, unblinkingly, unashamedly.

He'd bent his head toward his desk, and his eyes seemed to be riveted to the textbook. But I would have guessed he was still aware of me from the way his entire body remained rigid with tension, and his face slowly changed color.

The blood in his face set the venom to filling my mouth again, and the hunger made my head swim.

He didn't look at me again, just kept his head down, eyes fixed on his book. Occasionally his long fingers would fidget with a page before flipping it over, or reach up to scribble a note in his notebook.

I found myself staring at his hands. In spite of how large they were, there was a fineness, a slender, fragile look about them. The bones were almost visible beneath the pale membrane of his skin. I imagined what it would feel like to run my fingers over each knuckle, tracing the bones down to the tips of the finger.

Fragile, I thought again as I stared at his hands. Breakable.

I felt a pain in my chest—this was all wrong. He was a good person, a kind person, who didn't deserve this fate. How could I let my life collide with his? How could I take away his future?

The brief hour passed all too quickly, as I vacillated between giving in—I knew now Archie was right, and I couldn't stay away from him—and continuing to cling to my hopeless plan. By the end I felt mentally drained, and I still hadn't found my resolve.

As the bell rang he gathered his books together, without looking in my direction.

It was unbearable, and for a moment my weaker side prevailed.

"Beau?" A thrill went through me, saying his name aloud for the first time in over a month.

He hesitated, his eyes remaining fixed on his books. Then at last he turned reluctantly to look at me, his expression wary.

He was quiet, waiting for me to continue, but I didn't. I just gazed at his face. It was such a release—to be able to look at his face for myself again, to feel him looking at me. I felt like I would have been satisfied to stay like this the rest of the day, the rest of eternity, studying his face, trying to decipher the thoughts behind it.

"Yes?" he said at last, uncertainly.

I didn't answer, still warring with myself, between what I knew I should do, which I was increasingly beginning to believe I wouldn't be able to do, and doing what I so desperately wanted.

"So..." he said at last, clearly uncomfortable. "Um, are you...or are you not talking to me again?"

The war continued.

"Not," I said, saying what I obviously knew I should say, but my face betrayed me as I smiled at the obvious irony.

"Okay..." he muttered, apparently deciding to take me at my word. He ignored my contrarily inviting expression.

I should have let that be the end of the conversation. He was turning away from me—already ready to let it drop. But I was suddenly desperate—desperate to keep our first conversation in weeks going a little longer, to savor it.

"I'm sorry," I said seriously. "I'm being very rude, I know. But it's better this way, really."

As my weaker side had hoped, he turned back to me again. His brow was furrowed, his eyes confused. "I don't know what you mean," he answered.

"It's better if we're not friends," I said. "Trust me." Saying what I should say with my mouth—saying everything wrong with my body language and tone. If I was trying to achieve what I said, I should stop this conversation now and go back to ignoring him, and let him ignore me. But I wasn't. I was just going to keep going—saying one thing and implying another.

At this, his eyes narrowed. He suddenly looked irritated, almost angry. Perhaps he didn't appreciate someone who had already lied to him once asking for trust.

However, there was also a coldness in the look he gave me I couldn't remember ever seeing. Before I could stop myself, I blurted out, "What are you thinking?"

He hesitated, his deep frown still in place. Then he said in a low voice, "I guess...that it's too bad you didn't figure this out earlier, saved yourself the regret."

I blinked. Somehow, even though I ought to have grown to expect it by now, it still always caught me unawares—the fact he always managed to say something I couldn't have expected.

"Regret?" I said, my eyebrows knitting. "Regret for what?"

"For not letting Taylor's van crush me when it had the chance," he said, and though his voice was still low, it had a hard edge to it.

I stared at him, stunned. For a moment I couldn't respond. I felt like he'd slapped me across the face.

Irrational as it was, a sudden, white-hot burst of anger flashed through my mind. He had no idea what I had been through—all the demons I was fighting, all the regrets and monsters. Saving his life was the one _good_ thing I had done, the one redeemable part of this whole mess. He didn't know anything. He could accuse me of being a monster, a freak—that was true. But was he going to undermine the one noble thing I had done? The one legitimate reason Carine could have to be proud of me?

"You think I regret saving your life?" I said, very quietly.

He looked away from me, toward a couple of other students still lingering at the front of the room. They weren't paying attention to us, but one happened to glance over and meet his gaze. The boy seemed to sense the intensity of the conversation, and at a hard look from Beau, he quickly turned away again, uncomfortable.

Beau turned back to me, and when he spoke his voice was even lower than before. "Yeah," he said, still with a touch of antagonism. "I mean, what else? Seems kind of obvious."

Again, I couldn't immediately answer. Everything about the way he said it made the anger burn all the stronger. _Seems kind of obvious._ So certain, when he obviously didn't have the faintest clue. The unfairness of it burned like a firebrand, twisting in my stomach. How was I ever going to figure out how his mind worked when it was so unfathomable? When it defied logic?

"You're an idiot," I said abruptly, spitting the words at him.

For a moment his eyes flashed, and he looked more angry than I could ever remember seeing him. Thoughts seemed to race behind his eyes, but I couldn't even begin to guess what they were.

He seized his books from the desk and abruptly stood up. He turned for the door without a backward glance. He almost made it out, but then his foot caught on the threshold, and he stumbled for a second, off-balance.

I half stood up from my chair in alarm, afraid he might go all the way down—that would be just what we needed if he fell down and scraped his arm, exposing his blood—but he caught himself in time. However, the books weren't so lucky. They fell to the floor in a series of resounding thuds.

He didn't bend to retrieve them right away. His face was red, and he looked like he was seething. He stood where he was, staring straight ahead, looking as though debating whether or not to just stalk off down the sidewalk, leaving the books where they were.

However, he was too responsible for that, and finally he sighed, bending.

I was there before he had even gotten all the way down. He blinked, startled, as I offered him the neat stack of books.

He took them, but refused to look at me. "Thanks," he muttered reluctantly.

"You're welcome," I answered, stiff.

He straightened and, still not looking at me, headed back down the sidewalk toward his next class.

I stood there and watched him go, his shoulders tense, his head bent, watching until I couldn't see him anymore.

* * *

I was in Spanish in body, but not in mind. It was fortunate Mr. Goff always gave me a great deal of latitude in his class—he knew my Spanish was better than his—because I didn't think I could have paid attention even if I tried.

My thoughts were in a jumble, whirling dizzily though my mind like a cyclone. My anger at his unfair accusation had faded now, and I was filled with a kind of buzz instead. I was on edge, restless, excited.

So, I couldn't stay away from him. That was out. But did that mean I would necessarily destroy his future, as Archie had predicted? Or could there still be another way?

I was so absorbed in my thoughts I barely noticed Eleanor sitting beside me, watching me with some bemusement, and it wasn't until the hour was almost up my focus briefly flickered to her.

Eleanor wasn't one for picking up subtleties, but even she noticed the obvious change in me—my ever-present scowl was gone, and she tried to find the word to describe how I looked now. Hopeful, she decided at last.

Hopeful. Hmm.

If that was true, I wondered exactly what I was hoping for.

I considered the question as I left the classroom, walking on out to the Volvo. However, my thoughts were interrupted when the sound of his name in thoughts nearby caught my attention. By now, I was sensitive to any thoughts about him in my immediate vicinity.

These particular thoughts belonged to Erica—having heard that Beau had turned McKayla down, she was preparing to make her own move. She had positioned herself against his truck, ready to ambush him the moment he approached.

There was another set of thoughts I noticed centered on him too, for the same reason—Taylor Crowley was being held back late in class to receive an assignment, and she was desperate to catch Beau before he went home.

Assured now that he really wasn't intending to go to the dance with anyone, I smiled. I had to see this—it should be entertaining.

"Wait for the others here, all right?" I murmured to Eleanor.

She read my expression—bright-eyed, excited—and she shook her head.

 _Okay. But you know you look really crazy right now, right?_

I turned away from her, and circled back around the parking lot. I caught sight of him coming out of gym, and I kept out of his sight line until he was almost to his truck, then approached, setting my pace so I would pass by at the right moment.

When he first caught sight of the figure leaning beside the truck, he froze for a second, coming to a complete stop. Then he seemed to recover and kept walking.

"Hey, Erica," he called, his voice unusually friendly. He sounded relieved to see her—or happy?

My complacency abruptly evaporated, and I suddenly wondered if Erica was the one he'd been wanting to ask him all along. He'd always seemed more uncomfortable around Erica than McKayla I'd thought, but maybe that was because she was really the one he liked.

"Hi, Beau," she answered.

He went on past her to his truck door. "What's up?" he asked casually. He glanced down at her for the first time, and he nearly dropped the keys in his hand. He abruptly looked nearly as nervous as Erica.

She looked down, so I no longer had a view of his face.

"Um, I was wondering if you would go to the spring dance with me?"

Silence, for a moment. I was in nearly as much suspense as Erica.

"Sorry, Erica," he said finally. "I'm not going to the dance."

Erica's eyes remained fixed on the ground, so I couldn't read his expression.

"Oh, okay," she said in a small voice.

"Because I'm going to be in Seattle," he added. "It's the only day I can go. So, you know, oh well. I hope it's fun and all."

Erica was finally able to look up from her shoes, but his face was partially obscured by the black fringe of her bangs. She was still disappointed, but she felt a little better. "Okay," she said again, with a bit of a smile this time. "Maybe next time."

"Sure," he said, smiling, but then hesitated, as if rethinking the wisdom of encouraging her.

"See ya," she said quickly, already turning. Slightly mollified by the excuse or not, she was eager to be out of there.

I was passing the front of the truck just as Erica hurried away down the walk and as I caught sight of his back—his posture tense and awkward, hand half-raised in a wave Erica had missed, I couldn't stop the soft laugh that escaped me.

He heard it and he stiffened. His eyes shot back to me, but I stared straight ahead as I passed, my mouth set in a straight line, as if I hadn't noticed him.

He turned sharply away and pulled the door of his truck open with more force than necessary, as if he were angry with it, then slammed it behind him.

I could hear Taylor's frantic thoughts as she raced toward the truck, desperate to catch him before he could pull away. Taylor was not nearly so nervous as the other two—she had never had a problem asking a boy out in her life. She would have asked long before now, had she not thought it more fair to let McKayla try first. When it came to guys, Taylor had a strange code she lived by—she believed in solidarity among girls, up to a point.

Amused by the thought of this particular encounter, I was determined that Taylor have her chance, and I strode quickly toward the Volvo.

I didn't think I had much to worry about where Taylor was concerned. Since the accident, it seemed Beau found her repeated apologies a little exasperating, and even if Taylor was oblivious to it, he seemed a little put out. From what I could tell, he tended to avoid her when he could.

Then again, maybe he avoided her because she made him nervous. What if she was the one after all? Could she be his type?

As I quickly slipped in the Volvo, my hand hesitated on the gearshift.

I remembered again what Eleanor had thought of me—I looked hopeful. But what was I hoping for? That I could compete with these normal, human girls? That I could win him over, get him to choose me?

Could I really be entertaining thoughts so ridiculous? Eleanor was right, I was crazed. Delusional.

I should let him go. Escape. Let the situation with Taylor play out however it would naturally.

But my will was inexcusably weak today, and I knew if she didn't ask him now, she might find a way to contact him later at a time when I would have no way of knowing the outcome. If Taylor was the one, I had to know.

I slipped my car out into the narrow lane, blocking the exit.

Eleanor and the others were all together now, and they were slowly making their way across the lot toward me. Eleanor had informed them of how I was acting, and now they were watching me, trying to figure out what on earth I was up to.

I watched him in my rearview mirror. He raised his eyebrows slightly when he saw what I was doing, then looked away, toward the other side of the lot, where he saw my family's slow approach.

He seemed to sigh, then settled in to wait, deliberately not looking in the direction of my car. Still annoyed about our confrontation in the classroom, probably.

Taylor, delighted at my inexplicable rudeness, made it to her car and pulled up right behind Beau. She waved wildly, trying to get this attention, but his eyes dipped toward the dashboard and he didn't seem to notice.

Taylor waited a second. Then, deciding to seize the moment, got out of her car and sauntered up to the passenger side window of his truck. She rapped on the glass.

He jerked slightly, then turned and saw her. He stared for a second in confusion, then fumbled with the manual crank for the passenger window. He got it down about partway.

"Sorry, Taylor, I can't move," he said, obviously trying to sound apologetic, though I heard a trace of annoyance Taylor didn't pick up on. "I'm pinned in." He gestured vaguely in the direction of my car without looking at it.

"Oh, I know," she said cheerfully. "I just wanted to ask you something while we're trapped here."

The look of horror that flitted across his face made me pretty sure he knew where this was going and I grinned as I leaned over the steering wheel. I was glad I didn't miss this.

"Will you go to the spring dance with me?" she asked.

"I'm not going to be in town, Taylor," he said, unable to keep his impatience from his voice.

"Yeah, McKayla told me that," she said.

"Then, why—" he began, incredulous.

She shrugged. "I was hoping you were just letting her down easy."

"Sorry, Taylor," he said, sounding distinctly peeved now. "I'm not going to the dance."

Taylor nodded, accepting the excuse. "That's cool," she said. "We still have prom."

His mouth fell open, and the look on his face was priceless. But before he could answer, she had already sauntered back to her car.

I watched him in my rearview mirror. Patches of red were blooming across his face, though from anger or embarrassment it was hard to tell.

I laughed—so much it almost hurt. I had to clutch the steering wheel to keep myself sitting upright.

I felt giddy. It seemed pretty clear now—he didn't have any interest in these girls. I still couldn't be entirely sure on the McKayla situation with Jeremy's involvement, but my gut told me he legitimately wanted to avoid the dance, and if Jeremy liked McKayla, he was eager she pay attention to him so he wouldn't have to hurt her feelings.

I was giddy for another reason, too. Giddy because I'd looked at him again today, spoken to him, and he'd looked at me, and the long drought of ignoring and being ignored was over. Giddy because there was hope again... Hope for what, I still wasn't sure.

My family had reached the car now and were sliding inside. They all stared at me like I'd lost my mind.

He saw them getting in too, and as he watched, his eyes briefly met mine in the rear view mirror. Seeing my laughter, he scowled fiercely and revved the engine threateningly.

"Wow," Archie said, glancing back. "He looks really pissed off. What did you do to him?"

Royal's arms were folded across his chest, and he glowered at me from the back seat. _Way to go, genius. That's just what we need._

I laughed again, too delighted to be irked at his tone.

I pulled away quickly, before he could make up his mind to really mess up my paint job, and soon we were off down the road.

No one spoke to me on the ride back. Every now and again I would giggle to myself, and a few of my passengers would glance at each other, wondering what had effected this transformation, from walking around with an ever-present scowl on my face to this.

Unfortunately, as we turned onto our drive, Archie ruined my mood.

"So do I get to talk to him now?" he asked brightly. He hadn't considered the words first, thus giving me no warning.

"No," I said sharply.

"Oh, come on," he said. "What are we waiting for _now_?"

I shook my head. "I haven't decided anything."

He snorted. In his head, the two opposing destinies were crystal clear again.

My high was gone now. "What's the point?" I muttered. "Why do you want to get to know him if I'm just going to kill him anyway?"

Archie hesitated. He didn't answer.

We were there, and I brought the car to a screeching halt inside the garage. I didn't wait for anything else as I hurled myself out of the car. I barely caught Royal's disdainful mutter on the way out. "Have fun running."

However, instead of running to Seattle, I went to the edge of the mountain to go hunting. If I was going to be out, I might as well be doing something useful, and I couldn't afford to be distracted by thirst now. I came across a small herd of elk, and I was lucky enough to find a black bear, too. I gorged myself like before, until I felt almost sick. Again, I knew it would make little difference in the face of his intoxicating blood, but it made me feel a little better, a little more prepared.

I was done hunting far too soon, and knew I couldn't force down any more blood if I tried. The remaining hours of the night loomed ahead of me, and I couldn't begin to think what I was going to do with them. There was only one thing in the world I wanted at the moment, and of course I couldn't have it. There were far too many hours left until sunrise, until school tomorrow—when I would see him again.

And yet...

A completely inexcusable idea flickered at the back of my mind. I tried to dismiss it as soon as it came, but now that it was in my mind, it wouldn't go away.

Before I could stop myself, I was racing back to Forks.

I just wanted to see where he was, just wanted the barest glimpse of his face. That would last me through until morning. The monster inside me eager for his blood, though still there, was unusually quiet, and I could keep a safe distance.

It was just past midnight when I reached the house—the house I had never been to, but visited a thousand times in my mind that first day when I had plotted to murder him. All was dark and still, the truck parked out against the curb, and his father's police cruiser in the driveway. There were no conscious thoughts anywhere in the neighborhood.

I remained on the edge of the forest for a moment, concealed by the shadows.

 _This is wrong,_ I thought, as I stared at the plain house, the windows dark. _I shouldn't be doing this._ Bad enough that I stalked him with my mind wherever he went at school, watched every thought anyone ever had about him. But now I was following him to his home, too, contemplating violating the one place he was supposed to be safe.

However, as if I were drawn by some kind of irresistible magnetic pull, I crept swiftly and silently across the open yard. I decided in a moment I wouldn't try the front door—it was probably locked, and I didn't want to leave a broken door as evidence. The last thing we needed was a scandal about a burglary at the police chief's house. I fixed instead on the upstairs window—not many people would bother to install a lock there.

It took me less than a second to scale the face of the house, and I gripped the eaves above the window, hooking a toe on the small level space between the grooves along which the window slid when it was open, and the window pane.

My eyes flickered to the dark room inside—and my breath stopped.

It was his room. I could see his bed, and he was there, lying on his side, his back to me. He seemed to be having a restless, fitful sleep. He'd shoved the covers off onto the floor, and the sheets were twisted up around his legs. As I watched, he twitched and jerked, clutching at the material of his pillowcase, as though he were having a nightmare. Did he somehow supernaturally sense my presence? Did he sense the danger so close by?

My conscience burned at me again. This wasn't right. I shouldn't be here, doing this. I didn't have the right to intrude on his personal space without permission, to stalk him wherever he went—I remembered the way he grimaced and sighed at the way Taylor followed him around after the accident. And that had only been at school. What would he think of me now, shamelessly invading the place that should have been a sanctuary?

I relaxed my fingers, preparing to let myself fall back to earth, and slink back into the dark, dank woods where I belonged. But as he jerked again and turned restlessly onto his other side, facing me, I allowed myself one long look at his face.

His brow was furrowed. He looked uncomfortable, upset. He drew in a heavy breath, as though his lungs couldn't get enough air, and his mouth opened.

"Sure, Mom," he grunted, the words slurring together.

I paused, my fingers still clinging to the eaves.

Apparently, he talked in his sleep.

A silent, ferocious battle went on in my head for a minute. _Wrong!_ my conscience screamed at me. The word continued to repeat itself like a chant in my mind, even as I slowly, cautiously reached down with my free hand and tried the window.

It was not locked, though it was stuck in place from long disuse. I pushed on it, then froze as it creaked against the metal frame.

However, he did not react. Holding my breath, I pushed on it again, slowly, wincing at every small creak and groan. I would have to bring some oil along to lubricate the sliders next time...

 _Wrong!_ my conscience insisted severely. _Wrong, wrong, wrong._

I knew what I was doing was _completely_ wrong, in every sense of the word. Unethical. But the lure of his unprotected, unconsciously spoken thoughts was too strong to resist, at least right now, when clearly my willpower was so weak.

I slipped down through the half-opened window, landing with perfect silence on the wooden floor.

The room was small and remarkably well kept. There were no clothes laying about—even the laundry hamper in the corner only had a few articles in it. The only things out were the few books he had stacked next to the bed, the spines facing away from me, and CDs stacked beside an inexpensive CD player. There was an antiquated computer sitting on the desk, which looked as though it was used only rarely. A pair of sneakers had been set neatly by the bed.

I was tempted to go look at the books and CDs, just to see what he was interested in, but I didn't think it wasn't a good idea to go that close. I noticed a rocking chair in the corner, and I went to sit in it, on the far side of the room.

I leaned my head against my hand, gazing across the dark room at his face. His mouth was slightly open as he breathed through it, but he didn't speak again. Maybe his dream had ended.

I stared at him unabashedly, my raging conscience receding for the moment, as I took in every detail. His ragged T-shirt and sweat pants, his tousled dark hair, half smashed against the pillow. Such a beautiful face, a gentle face.

As I gazed at him, I felt the future twist and flicker in my mind. Vague shadows of possibility.

If I followed one of Archie's options, I would wreak havoc on his life. Destroy him, one way or another. The thought broke me inside—it was unbearable. But obviously I couldn't keep away from him, not as long as I was here. What if I left, then? The others surely couldn't argue there was any danger now. They had to know he could be trusted, that he would keep his word.

But it didn't seem possible. I couldn't imagine leaving for one day, let alone staying away for a year, a year and a half. Staying away from him the rest of his life.

But how could I compete with the others anyway? Those normal, human girls. I was a monster straight out of a nightmare, and if he ever knew it, he would run from me, screaming. And why shouldn't he? How close had I come to murdering an entire class full of children just so I could drink his blood? How close had I come to following him home, murdering him in his own kitchen? I was the villain, the monster from a horror film, and he was the would-be victim. If he had the slightest idea what I was, my all-consuming obsession with him, that I stalked him to his house and now watched him as he slept, he would be terrified. He would probably leave Forks and never come back.

I bent my head, burying my face in my hands. There was no denying it anymore—I wasn't merely in danger of falling in love. I was already far gone. But I knew what I had to do. I had to do the right thing—back away, let him live his life, the life he deserved. Someday, he would meet a girl, even if she wasn't any of the girls he knew now. And he would want to talk to her, open up to her, and be thrilled if she wanted to do something with him, whether that was a dance or going to a movie or just walking together in the evening twilight. And I couldn't let myself hunt her down or run her off, because he deserved to have whoever he chose. He deserved to have a life of love and happiness.

I wasn't breathing. I hadn't been since I entered this small room. As I bent, my lungs ached, and my dead, frozen heart felt like it would break.

"Edythe?"

I froze. My eyes flashed up, horrified. The idea of being caught here was almost too ghastly to consider.

However, when my panicked gaze came to rest on his face, his eyes were still closed. His brow was furrowed slightly, and he sighed deeply.

"Edythe," he muttered again, then rolled onto his side.

I sat where I was, frozen, trying to make sense of it. Was he dreaming—dreaming of me?

"Edythe," he sighed.

I sat where I was, listening hard, but he settled back, and said no more.

I didn't move. My mind was a blank. Though of course my heart was still as it always was, I could imagine it pounding in my cold chest, beating in my ears, drowning out everything else. The sound of his voice kept repeating itself in my mind—the way he said my name. Not fearful, not like he was having a nightmare.

Like it was a beautiful word. Like it came out of a wonderful, magical place.

Something was spreading through me. Slowly—but as inexorable and impossible to stop as a lava flow. An emotion that seemed beyond words. I felt warm—down to the very tips of my fingers, to the deepest depths of my frozen soul.

Life as a vampire was eternal midnight. I had accepted that. Time stood still for me—the moment my mortality ended, I became something more like stone than flesh, unyielding, unchangeable, my body and even my personality forever frozen at the age of seventeen. I had emerged from the change in a place of eternal dark and cold, and I had accepted that was where I would always be.

But I had seen one thing that could move even solid stone—hot enough it melted even the hardest rock, letting it solidify into something entirely new.

Love. Like Carine's love for Earnest, Royal's love for Eleanor. It was a permanent change, irreversible—I could feel the sun rising on my midnight, and I felt the warmth seeping deep into my frozen limbs, settling into every part of my frozen heart and mind.

He had ceased his restless shifting, and now he lay silently on his side, facing me, his breath coming deeply and evenly.

I gazed on his face again, but it was different from what it had been before. My turbulent mind felt more peaceful than it had in months. Peaceful, because all my uncertainty was gone. I felt—strong. Not strong enough to leave—not yet. Perhaps that would still be my ultimate goal in the end, but for now I felt confident in myself—confident there was no longer any danger I would give in to the monster inside me, the monster that yearned for the taste of his blood. If I killed him now, it would only be a horrible accident, not intentional.

Because he was all that mattered—he was the sun in the midst of deepest night, and all that mattered was that he was happy.

I remembered Archie's other vision—the one where he became one of us. The vision had confused me—how had it happened? But it seemed only too obvious now. If I so feared to see him broken, that _I_ might break him, I might be driven to the unforgivable selfishness of asking Carine to make him unbreakable for me. Ask her to take his life and soul so that I could keep him forever.

I still couldn't accept that future. Even less so now, my feelings being what they were. I'd rather my own existence end, than condemn him to eternal night with me, put an end to his human life. His happiness was everything, and for him to sacrifice anything, lose anything, was intolerable.

But there was one more choice, growing in my mind, solidifying. Before, I knew I could never have been strong enough. But now, I was stronger. So much stronger.

I knew if I were around him, it would only be too easy to kill him by accident. All it would take was one mistake, one moment when I wasn't paying enough attention. So if I was going to do this, I would have to be inordinately careful—I would have to control my every breath, my every movement. I would have to be consciously aware, my guard up all the time. I could never make a single mistake.

Could I do that? If I somehow, inconceivably, was the one to win him over, if he chose me to be the one to make him happy...could I make him happy without taking away his life? Let him live out his life as a human, and be with him, even as what I was?

I closed my eyes. Then, slowly, deliberately, I drew in a long breath through my nose.

The scent seared my throat like a wildfire, assaulting me, intoxicating me. It seemed to envelop me like a heavy cloud of noxious fumes, muddling my thoughts. His scent was everywhere, thick in the air, layered on every surface. I breathed again and my lungs burned.

But I held on tightly to myself—the temptation was still there as ever, but the monster that _wanted_ to succumb to the temptation was nowhere to be found.

I breathed again, and again, savoring the agony—because being able to endure this pain meant I had a chance at something I wanted a thousand times more than blood.

I sat where I was, until the sun rose behind the eastern clouds, breathing deeply, burning, and outlining the opening moves of my campaign. School—that was where it would begin. And I'd show all my numerous rivals how hard I intended to fight.

I breathed deeply in and out.

* * *

I didn't arrive home until after the others had already left for school.

Earnest was in the living room as I came inside, and he immediately saw the change in my face, the feverish light in my eyes.

He watched me with mingled worry and relief. He knew he'd never seen such a look on my face before, but he was glad my long bout of depression seemed to be over.

I didn't give him the chance to ask any questions as I rushed up to my room to change into fresh clothes, then hurried to start off for school.

They had already taken my Volvo, and even though I could have simply borrowed one of my siblings' cars, that would probably attract attention unnecessarily. Besides—I wanted to run.

I arrived at school barely a few seconds after they did, my eyes bright, feeling exhilarated. There was a light drizzle falling now, and the droplets settled in my hair. I waited in the thick woods that bordered the pavement for a moment. None of my siblings turned, though Archie probably knew I was there. I held back until no one was looking in this direction, then emerged from the trees, casually strolling onto the parking lot as if I had been there all along.

I heard the distinctive coarse rumbling of his old truck not a moment later, and I stopped behind a Suburban, so I could watch without danger of being seen.

I expected him to park in his usual place, a few spots down from where I usually parked the Volvo, but he kept on going, until he reached the far end of the parking lot, possibly the most inconvenient place for getting to his first class.

I smiled a little. It had become almost a comfort now—that familiar inexplicable behavior.

I approached cautiously, trying to figure out what excuse I could use to start a conversation. I felt suddenly, unaccountably nervous. Last night, when I had been listening to him say my name in his sleep, the idea of moving his heart toward me, winning his affection above the others, had seemed more than doable. Here in broad daylight, where it seemed just as likely he had been having a dream about Biology class as something deep or meaningful, I didn't even know where to begin. Especially when half of me was still convinced it would be far better for him if turned away any attention I showed him as thoroughly as he did McKayla.

Now that I thought about it, the best way to describe the way he acted when girls seemed as though they liked him was uncomfortable. That fit with his generally humble disposition. The attention wasn't a source of some kind of ego-trip, like it probably would have been for Jeremy. It seemed to make him edgy, the possibility of hurting anyone's feelings. I was even more convinced than before that he had come up with the Seattle trip purely to make it easier on the girls he turned down.

I decided it was best not to come on too strong at first. Declaring undying, eternal love and devotion did not seem wise at this stage. Better to keep it subtle—just stick to regular conversation for now.

Regular conversation—I was almost in ecstasy at the prospect.

As I was still figuring out what to say, I passed by the truck at the moment he was climbing out. As he did, he fumbled the key and it fell into a deep puddle. I saw my chance and seized it.

He stood there a moment, glaring down at where it had fallen, making me think he was not having a particularly good day. Then he sighed and bent.

However, I was already there, and I picked it out easily before he had to get his hand wet.

He jerked as though he had been electrocuted, his head coming up so fast it nearly collided with mine.

"How do you _do_ that?" he demanded.

I leaned against the side of his truck casually, as if I had been there all along. "Do what?" I asked innocently as I offered him the key. He held his hand out and I let it fall into his palm.

I inhaled deeply through my nose, taking in his scent, and taking a kind of masochistic delight in the way it scorched down my throat and into my lungs.

"Appear out of thin air?" He raised an eyebrow at me.

"Beau, it's not my fault if you are exceptionally unobservant," I said. I was suddenly giddy again, and I had to fight a smile at the irony of the statement—he was probably the most observant human I had ever met.

However, I felt a flicker of worry. I wondered if he would notice how my voice seemed to fold around his name, how it sent a charge of wondrous delight through my system as it passed my lips.

Subtle, I reminded myself.

He stared back at me. Something in his expression changed. His eyebrows were tense, and a look flared in his eyes I couldn't interpret. Anger? Disgust?

Before I could say anything, the look faded. His heart rate sped up, and his eyes dropped.

What was he thinking? It was almost physically painful not to know. Just annoyance? Or was this response out of some instinctual fear?

At last he finally looked up, but his eyes didn't return to mine. Rather, he stared past me toward the school.

"Why the traffic jam last night?" he asked suddenly, unexpectedly. "I thought you were pretending I don't exist."

I made a split-second decision and answered honestly—maybe it revealed too much, but as he had already seen me stop a van with my bare hands, I didn't see what harm it could possibly do.

"Ah," I said. "That was for Taylor's sake. She was figuratively dying for her chance at you." I smiled conspiratorially as though the two of us were in on a joke.

He stared at me in open-mouthed disbelief. "What?" he sputtered. He tried not to look as irked as he seemed to feel at my part in the uncomfortable scene yesterday.

"And I'm not pretending you don't exist," I added. Far from it.

He stared at me, and again, that look came into his eyes. Frustration, anger—as if there was something he desperately wanted to escape, but couldn't. Like a trapped animal.

"I don't know what you want from me," he said, his eyes boring into mine. Always too observant. Always too quick to see what I didn't want him to see.

My amusement vanished and I was instantly sober. "Nothing," I said, maybe too quickly.

It was like he was already on alert—already knowing instinctively that I was plotting to derail his existence, to change the course of his life. Because even if he didn't become one of us as Archie's vision predicted, choosing me would still mean a significant change. I would never be able to give him a completely normal, full life. I would always have to be on my guard, careful, keeping some distance between us so I didn't hurt him by accident. He would always have to live somewhere overcast and cloudy, rather than in the warmth and sunlight he preferred, wouldn't be able to share normal things like going out to eat together. I wouldn't even be able to give him children.

It would be better for him if he didn't choose me. If he turned me as completely away as he had the others.

But even as I thought it, I knew I wouldn't stop trying all the same.

"Then you probably should have let the van take me out," he answered coolly. "Easier that way."

Anger pulsed through me, as it had the previous day. When I spoke, my voice was hard. "Beau, you are utterly absurd."

Splotches of color stained his face. Wordlessly, he stalked straight past me.

I was instantly penitent. "Wait," I pleaded, turning toward him.

He ignored me and kept on going, his shoulders stiff.

I had to walk fast to catch up, faster than I normally would have walked around humans.

"I'm sorry, that was rude," I said in a rush, trying not to let my desperation show through. I added, "I'm not saying it wasn't true, but it was rude to say it out loud."

"Why won't you leave me alone?" he asked, glaring straight ahead.

The question hurt. It wasn't even my first day of my campaign, and already he was more desperate to be rid of me than any of the other girls constantly fighting for his attention. Leaving him alone was what I should do—but I wouldn't. Because there was only one thing in this world I wanted and the chance to fight for it was worth weathering any and all annoyance and rejection.

An idea suddenly occurred to me.

Deciding to take a leaf out of Taylor's book and act oblivious, I said, almost cheerful, "I wanted to ask you something, but you sidetracked me."

He sighed and slowed down. Apparently he couldn't keep up being uncivil for long, no matter how he might feel. However, he eyed me warily. "Fine," he muttered, looking as if he wasn't sure if he was going to regret this. "What do you want?"

"I was wondering if, a week from Saturday—you know, the day of the spring dance—"

He abruptly stopped walking, and spun to face me. He looked appalled. "Is this _funny_ to you?" he demanded.

I paused beside him, staring up at his furious expression. Funny, how uncomfortable he got around the other girls, worried he was going to hurt their feelings. He tried hard to be nice. But me—it was like he didn't regard me as a normal girl, with feelings. Or maybe, he simply disliked me so much he just didn't care what my feelings were.

I remembered how, at the beginning, I'd thought of him as my enemy. It seemed silly to think of now. But maybe he had picked up the cue more than I'd guessed. I was desperate to know what he thought of me—but as he stood here, staring down at me with eyes full of loathing and disgust, maybe it was better I didn't.

However, as I gazed up into his face, I realized I wasn't afraid of his dislike. Or at least, it wasn't enough to deter me. I wasn't afraid to do everything I could to try to overcome it.

I smiled. "Will you please allow me to finish?" I asked pleasantly.

He stared down at me for a second. I saw a conflict in his eyes.

However, he didn't move, so I continued, "I heard that you were going to Seattle that day, and I wondered if you wanted a ride."

I knew he wouldn't agree to go to the dance—going to a dance with a girl probably made him feel like it opened him up to future obligation. And even if, remote as the possibility was, I _was_ the one he wanted to go with...I would imagine after spreading his excuse of Seattle so far he might feel wrong about it, after turning so many others down. I wouldn't have wanted to put him in that kind of bind, just to prove he liked me more than the others.

This way carried less of a threat of romantic entanglement, but, if he willingly agreed to spend the time with me, it felt like that would still be a kind of victory.

He gaped at me. "Huh?" he said, brow creasing with confusion.

"Do you want a ride to Seattle?" I repeated. My mind flitted ahead, to the thought of being alone with him in the small, enclosed space of a car for hours. My throat was already burning—but in an odd, slightly masochistic way, I could already feel myself looking forward to it. It would be perfect practice. If I got what I wanted, the burn—like it was burning now—was going to be my ever-present companion.

If I got to spend the time with him, it seemed like a fair trade.

"With who?" he said uncertainly.

"Myself, obviously."

He stared at me like I was from an alien planet. "Why?"

"Well," I said, making this up as I went along, "I was planning to go to Seattle in the next few weeks, and to be honest, I'm not sure if your truck can make it." I figured that would make him more comfortable, if he didn't think my plans were entirely for him.

His eyes flashed again, and he turned away from me. He started walking again. He added in a low mutter as he turned, "Make fun of me all you want, but leave the truck out of it."

I followed him again. I knew I was being as relentless and pushy as Taylor, but I couldn't help it, especially as he hadn't actually said no.

"Why would you think I'm making fun of you?" I asked. "The invitation is genuine." I wondered if that sounded too formal—like I was trying to make some kind of business deal.

"My truck is great, thanks," he said shortly. He kept on walking.

By this point I had definitely long surpassed Taylor on pushiness, but as it began to occur to me he might really turn me down, desperation began to seep down into my lungs, making it hard to breathe.

"Can your truck make it to Seattle on one tank of gas?" I pressed, grasping at anything.

"I don't see how that's your problem," he grumbled.

I was determined I wasn't going to stop until he gave me a definite no. I'd make him say it straight to my face. I noticed his heart rate had accelerated a little, and his breath was coming faster. He seemed more nervous than angry now as I backed him further into a corner.

"The wasting of finite resources is everyone's problem," I answered loftily.

He sighed. "Seriously, Edythe, I can't keep up with you. I thought you didn't want to be my friend."

In spite of his aggravated tone, a thrill shot through me when he said my name. I thought again of last night, and I had to concentrate to keep my breathing from accelerating. I felt dizzy again, from the wonder of the emotions pulsing through me.

"I said it would be better if we weren't friends," I said quietly, "not that I didn't want to be."

He had stopped walking again, and he looked at me, annoyance back in place. "Oh, wow, great, so that's _all_ cleared up."

His eyes met mine, and his mouth opened slightly, but he said nothing more. I wondered what he saw, as he gazed into my eyes. I noticed his steady heartbeat turn irregular again—Did he guess what was really going through my mind? What all these roundabout games really portended—what, in the end, I wanted from him? Did the thought terrify him? Or was it simply that he was disgusted with the way, unlike McKayla, Erica, and Taylor, I disguised my real intentions behind jokes and light conversation?

"It would be more... _prudent_ for you not to be my friend," I said slowly, honestly. I stared back into his eyes. They were wide, sky blue, and filled with so many secrets. I had to work to keep my breathing even.

I said softly, "But I'm tired of trying to stay away from you, Beau."

My voice was low, too intense, betraying the depth of my emotion. I wasn't sure whether I meant to sound so serious—wasn't I trying to be subtle? Wasn't I trying to keep from scaring him out of his wits? Or did I think he would respect me more if I put my fragile, frozen heart on the line, without games, without holding back?

He didn't look away, but held my gaze. His expression was impossible to read, but his breathing had stopped.

"Will you accept a ride with me to Seattle?" I asked. My voice was no longer light or teasing.

It was more difficult than I expected, asking such a serious question. Because I knew he would have to give me a serious answer—and I didn't know what I would do if he said no.

He paused for a long moment, and it seemed to stretch on for an eternity. Then, at last, he nodded once.

Relief washed through me, and I was suddenly buoyant. My mouth split into a brilliant smile—and then it faded just as quickly.

It was like being torn in two. He had agreed to come with me, just as I fervently hoped he would. But would my triumph now mean his downfall? Would I eventually drive him to despair?

"You really _should_ stay away from me," I said, as if saying that would somehow alleviate my conscience later. And then, because I knew deep down I selfishly didn't truly want that, I added, "I'll see you in class."

With that, I turned and left, as quickly as I had come, eager to be somewhere I might think clearly again.

* * *

A/N: Yeah, super long chapter this time. And it's not even the longest chapter. (Actually, I don't think it's even the second-longest chapter.)

On the portrayal of McKayla and the other rivals—I decided to go for a bit more favorable view than Mike got in Midnight Sun. It felt like McKayla and the other girls were portrayed in a slightly more positive light in Life and Death, maybe partly because the situation was different, with it being perfectly appropriate for them to be asking Beau to the dance. (Unlike in Twilight, where you've got Mike, Eric, and Tyler all essentially asking Bella to a girl's choice dance.) So it felt like it would make sense for McKayla's thoughts to come across a little differently.

However, a little more than that, I was never really comfortable with Mike's portrayal in Midnight Sun. In spite of the kind of uneasy relationship Bella has with him and those moments he proves not to have the most stellar character (switching to Jessica so quickly, seeming to ask Bella out when Edward's gone for his weekend trips when he knows they're already boyfriend-girlfriend, etc.), he was a reasonably good friend to her throughout the books. It seemed a little distasteful to me that he had to be made out to be this complete loser in Midnight Sun, seemingly just for the purpose of creating this contrast to make Edward's superiority clear.

I really think there are ways to make characters who aren't the most upstanding still feel nuanced and real, just having some good qualities as well as bad. (Granted, in Midnight Sun we are seeing Mike through Edward's view, which we can imagine might be colored by jealousy, but judging from the thoughts Edward hears from Mike, it doesn't feel like we're supposed to see his judgment as clouded or unfair.)

Well, that's it for now. If you have a moment, let me know what you thought this chapter, and as always, I'll be working on the next one! C: See you next time!

Posted 7/30/18


	7. Blood Type

A/N: And, here we have a chapter even longer than the last one... Whether that's good or bad, I guess you all will have to decide, lol. It's mostly, again, because of those conversations, so indescribably tricky to do for a project like this.

Hope you enjoy it anyway, and see you at the end! C:

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Chapter 6: Blood Type

I went through my first two classes of the day barely aware of my surroundings.

It wasn't that I hadn't watched him through the eyes of others before—I'd eavesdropped on plenty of conversations. But during the last month of self-imposed isolation, I'd refrained from watching him too much. I listened to conversations to make certain he wasn't talking about us, and sometimes, when the need to know what he was doing was particularly overpowering, my mind would wander off to find him.

Now I was at a whole new level. I skipped from one pair of eyes to the next, constantly keeping him in view.

McKayla Newton didn't sit with him in his first class, still mortified and upset about the episode the previous day, and the generic prince fantasies were beginning to grind my last nerve, so I didn't look into her mind this time. I avoided Jeremy's mind too—the constant stream of perversity was not something I needed to subject myself to when there were other options available.

Allen Weber had always proved to be a preferable alternative. He was a legitimately thoughtful, easygoing person, and inhabiting his thoughts was like a breath of fresh air. However, he was the quiet type and generally kept to himself, and though he would have liked to talk to Beau more often, sensing a kindred spirit, he rarely initiated any conversation. Consequently, his attention was rarely on Beau. So I contented myself mainly looking through the eyes of the teachers, and the eyes of nearby random students.

This constant, uninterrupted surveillance allowed me to pick up on details I'd never before consciously considered. I watched, both fascinated and bewildered as he staggered through the early part of the day, managing to catch his sneakers on nearly anything, from minute cracks in the sidewalk to the edges of door frames, and he seemed in constant danger of going sprawling. _Uncoordinated_ didn't seem strong enough of a word. He seemed a positive menace.

Though I had perceived hints of this before, I had not realized its extent. I might have found it a little amusing, except that I remembered Carine's comment about the contusions on his skull, and considering how difficult I anticipated it would be to keep him safe from me, I hadn't the slightest idea how I might protect him from himself. When Mrs. Varner watched him bang his knee on the side of his desk and half collapse into his seat, I breathed a sigh of relief that he wouldn't be moving for another hour at least. He should be safe at least that long.

I continued to watch him all through my English class, only vaguely aware of the lecture that day. All I picked up on, on the rare moments when I came back to my own body, was that the teacher was discussing _The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde_ , one of our assigned reading books this quarter. Everyone knew the book was about the two sides of every human psyche, the good and the evil. Fewer probably knew that Dr. Jekyll had actually brought the misfortune on himself, creating the alter ego of Mr. Hyde for the express purpose of giving free reign to his darker passions while avoiding the scrutiny of societal judgment.

As I shamelessly stalked through what felt like just about every mind in the school, keeping him in sight at all times and using my advantage to size up any potential rivals, all the while invisible to anyone, the irony was not entirely lost on me.

I waited impatiently for the end of the period. I was already tired of watching him through the eyes of others. I had spent a month doing nothing but watching and listening. I was ready to talk to him myself—to ask my questions, and at last get my answers.

When the bell finally rang, I rose swiftly from my seat and strode to the cafeteria to secure my position.

I seated myself at a table in the corner that was almost always left vacant, knowing my presence would ensure it remained so.

I felt unaccountably nervous. Would he come over and sit with me today if I beckoned to him? Or would he think it so bizarre he might start rethinking his decision to agree to go with me to Seattle? Would he think me impossibly arrogant, to think all I had to do was call, and he would come right over?

However, I didn't see I had much choice. Obviously, I couldn't invite myself over to sit with his friends—even if I didn't want this conversation to be private, I could imagine their probable reactions, and the stir it would cause. And asking if he wanted to come sit at our table with my family was so absurd it was laughable. This was the best I could do—for the both of us to come halfway and meet in no-man's land.

As I was thinking, my family entered. No one showed the slightest surprise—clearly Archie had given them the head's up ahead of time.

Royal didn't look at me, his face set in a scowl as he stalked on past.

 _You'll regret this,_ he thought viciously. Not a threat, but a vindictive hope.

I didn't look at him, but I mentally sighed. Royal and I had never gotten along what anyone would call well. The first thing he'd heard from my mouth had ticked him off, and from then on it seemed more often than not we were at each other's throats. But he'd been acting even more surly and ill-tempered than usual.

But too bad. He could think whatever nasty thoughts he wanted about me, I couldn't have cared less at the moment.

Jessamine gave a slight half-smile as she passed. _Good luck,_ she thought, though she sounded doubtful.

Eleanor rolled her eyes. _It's official. You've lost it. I'm telling Carine she better consider getting a psyche degree next, because we'll need someone to deal with you._

Archie was grinning, perfectly white teeth flashing a little too brightly in the dim room. _Can I talk to him now? Say yes._

I scowled in his direction. "Not on your life," I said under my breath. "Stay out of it."

He shrugged, unperturbed. _Okay, but it's only a matter of time. You aren't going to keep us apart forever. Beau my man and I are going to be the best friends in the history of friends._

I sighed and grumbled.

 _Oh,_ he added casually, _and don't forget about today's Biology lab._

I nodded once in acknowledgment. No, I hadn't forgotten.

While I waited for him to arrive, I followed him in the eyes of a freshmen who was walking just behind Jeremy. Jeremy was talking animatedly about the dance, but Beau only occasionally grunted in response.

As they came through the door, his eyes flickered to the table where my siblings and I always sat. He paused, then his eyes dropped to the floor, and his shoulders slumped.

I watched him carefully from my place, trying to interpret the expression on his face. He seemed disappointed.

He shuffled his feet as he walked through the food line. He didn't take a plate, and instead took only a bottle of lemonade.

I frowned. That couldn't possibly be healthy. Surely he needed more nutrition than that. It was no wonder he was so thin...

I suddenly wondered if the look on his face was more physical than emotional. Maybe he was struggling with a sudden bout of indigestion. Or he thought he might be coming down with some illness or other.

It suddenly occurred to me just how incredibly fragile humans were.

"Edythe Cullen is staring at you," Jeremy said unexpectedly, bringing me out of my thoughts. "I wonder why she's sitting alone today."

His bowed head jerked up and he followed Jeremy's gaze. When his eyes met mine, I smiled. He stared at me, confused.

I'd been wondering exactly how I was going to get his attention, so I had to be grudgingly grateful to Jeremy for his help. Slowly, I raised my hand, crooking one finger, gesturing for him to join me.

His mouth opened slightly, apparently too stunned to react. Was he pleased? Or embarrassed?

I realized belatedly that this was going to attract some attention. Maybe not a lot, but then, I had never seen anyone so averse to drawing others' interest.

 _A little late to be thinking about that now,_ I thought with a mental sigh.

Hoping to jar him out of the stupor, I winked.

"Does she mean _you_?" Jeremy demanded, mouth falling open.

I half expected him to glare and turn his back on me, and to tell Jeremy to stop looking at me, too. He didn't like to feel like he was being teased, though that was part of what made teasing him was so fun—however, my action had the desired effect and he blinked, coming back to life.

"Um, maybe she needs help with her Biology homework," he muttered. "I guess I should go see what she wants."

Biology homework—I almost laughed. However, the amusement quickly died in my throat. Of course he would say something about Biology. That was our only real connection. Already he seemed eager to make sure that fact was firmly established in Jeremy's mind.

Jeremy's thoughts were acidic as he watched Beau approach my table.

 _...Biology homework, give me a break. Stop trying to be so cool. Brag! Gloat! Shove it in my face. Live it up while it lasts. She's not going to keep singling you out forever._

I ignored Jeremy, and though my face was composed, my fingers were tingling. Maybe it was just out of politeness, but he had accepted my invitation once again.

He stumbled a bit on one of the grooves in the linoleum before he finally reached my table. He came to a stop behind the chair opposite me, and stood there a minute, looking uncertain.

I inhaled deeply, drawing in his burning scent. For a moment, I simply gazed across the table at him, where I could see every detail of his face through my own eyes.

I couldn't suppress the broad smile that stretched across my face. "Why don't you sit with me today?" I asked.

Without a word, as though he were a soldier following a command, he automatically drew out the chair and sat down in one motion, his eyes never moving from my face. He stared at me a minute, as though trying to decipher my expression, perhaps trying to understand this unusual behavior.

I decided to wait for him to speak first—I wanted to hear his voice again, speaking directly to me. If I let him, he would let me do all the talking and never say a word. I saw it all the time when he was talking to Jeremy—he preferred to fade into the background. But I wasn't going to allow that. As much as he might want to, he would never go unnoticed again where I was concerned.

"This is, uh, different," he said at last.

"Well," I began, then paused. I considered saying something safe and polite, about just wanting a change of pace, and then moving onto something else equally non-threatening. The weather, perhaps. An easy, light conversation that would allow me to simply savor this time together, listening to the sound of his voice.

Instead, I heard myself say, "I decided as long as I was going to hell, I might as well do it thoroughly."

The words poured out of me in a rush—guiltily, like I was confessing a crime. And wasn't that exactly what I was doing? Confessing that I knew exactly what the right thing to do was, and here I was, doing precisely the opposite.

He didn't answer. He looked at me expectantly, as though waiting for me to explain myself. When I didn't, he finally said, "You know I don't understand what you mean, right?"

A smile twitched at the corners of my lips. "I'm counting on it."

I was looking for something to change the subject, and I was suddenly aware of half a dozen poisonous thoughts oriented in my direction. My eyes flickered automatically toward the table where he normally sat.

"I think your friends are upset that I've stolen you," I noted.

He paused, then shrugged, nonchalant. "They'll survive."

I felt a thrill go through me—as though he were choosing me over his friends. I quickly reigned it in. There was no use setting myself up for disappointment by getting ahead of myself.

"I might not give you back, though," I said, my voice light and teasing, but there was too much honest truth in it to keep from the words an underlying note of fervor. Or was it a threat?

Perhaps he interpreted it as the latter, because he swallowed audibly.

This shouldn't have made me laugh, but it did. I was giddy again, high on the fact he was sitting here across from me, and I was talking almost freely, as though I didn't care if I was dropping hints left and right that would let him work out all our secrets.

"You look worried," I said. I was saying almost anything that came to my mind, and it felt strangely freeing.

"No," he argued, though he swallowed again. He wasn't a very good liar under normal circumstances, and it didn't help that his voice cracked. He recovered, and said in a steadier voice, "But surprised, yes. What's all this about?"

"I told you," I said. "I'm tired of trying to stay away from you. So I'm giving up."

I kept the smile in place, even as the giddiness faded, and I was solemn again. I knew exactly what I was doing—the wrong thing. And I was deliberately doing it anyway. I was right, if there was a hell for us, if this wouldn't send me straight to it, I didn't know what would.

"Giving up?" he repeated, his brows coming together in confusion.

"Yes," I said softly, "giving up trying to be good. I'm just going to do what I want now, and let the chips fall where they may."

By the end, my voice was low and intense. A conscious decision to live only in pursuit of my own pleasure, regardless of the harm I knew I would inflict—this was the new me. I could already feel myself growing accustomed to it. What did it mean, that I was giving up trying to be good? It meant I was letting myself fall. I deserved him less now than I ever had, yet I was ready to do anything to achieve my selfish designs.

He stared at me, bewildered. "You lost me again."

I laughed softly. He didn't see the irony. "I always say too much when I'm talking to you—that's one of the problems."

"Don't worry," he said. "I don't understand anything you say."

I smiled widely at that. I should want him to understand these hardly subtle warnings—for him to understand that what I was doing was wrong, and take the initiative to circumvent me, stay away from me. But if I was already turning to the bad, maybe I was only capable of wanting what was advantageous for me.

"Like I said—I'm counting on that," I murmured.

Our eyes met, and he held my gaze. Neither of us spoke. It felt like the air was buzzing around us. For some reason, patches of red started to bloom across his face, and his eyes abruptly broke from mine.

"So," he said. "In plain English, are we friends now?"

"Friends..." I repeated, a little distastefully. It seemed such a bland, disappointing word.

"Or not," he said, shrugging.

I decided beggars couldn't be choosers, and I better take what I could get for now.

"Well, we can try, I suppose," I said. I added, "But, I'm warning you again that I'm not a good friend for you to have."

I spoke with feeling—again, as if I could write off my own responsibility by saying this enough times. As though if things went wrong, he would have no one to blame but himself.

I heard his heart thrum in his chest, faster than normal. Fear? Would he take my warning after all?

The thought sent a spasm of terror through me, and I suddenly wanted to take it all back.

"You say that a lot," he noted, clearly trying to keep his voice light.

I wanted to take it back, but I didn't. If I was going to do this, I had to give him the best warning I could give—I owed him that much.

"I do," I answered, "because you're not listening. I'm still waiting for you to hear me. If you're smart, you'll avoid me." I said the words, even as I knew they were wrong—not because they weren't true, but because it was wrong of me to push this responsibility onto him. If I believed it was dangerous, that I wasn't a good friend for him, then I ought to be the one staying away from him. I was the one holding all the cards, who had a complete picture of the situation, and it was obvious my vague warnings were not enough to make him truly understand.

He suddenly smiled. I realized just how rarely I had seen that expression on his face—it was strangely beautiful, like the sun breaking through clouds. My own smile widened automatically in response.

"I thought we'd already come to the conclusion that I'm an idiot," he said. "Or absurd, or whatever."

"I did apologize," I said, my voice warm—still caught in the aftereffects of the smile. "For the second one at least. Will you forgive me for the first? I spoke without thinking."

He was still smiling. "Yeah," he said generously, "of course. You don't have to apologize to me."

I stared back into his face, and my conscience suddenly seared me.

How could I do this? To such a kind, gentle, good person? I was going to destroy his life, take away the future he would have had.

I was suddenly subdued. "Don't I?" I whispered.

We were quiet then, and after a moment his eyes wandered away from mine, down to the lemonade bottle in his hands. I waited for him to say something, but he didn't speak, and his thoughts seemed far away. Finally processing what I'd said? Or contemplating something else entirely?

"What are you thinking?" I asked, and again my voice sounded too intense, too desperate.

He met my gaze. His breathing was coming a little too fast, and patches of color were beginning to bloom on his neck. "I'm wondering what you are," he said.

I didn't allow myself to react. I couldn't stop the muscles in my face from tightening slightly, but my smile didn't flicker.

"Are you having much luck with that?" I asked, my voice carefully light.

The pink patches on his neck deepened into a red, and I could taste it on the air. I inhaled deeply.

I waited for him to continue, but he didn't, only continued to slowly get redder by the minute.

I tilted my head to one side, staring deeply into his eyes. "Won't you tell me?" I coaxed.

He looked away, shaking his head. "Too embarrassing."

I lost my hold on my persuasive look, and I sighed in exasperation. "That's _really_ frustrating," I burst out, settling back in my seat, arms folded.

A flicker of annoyance passed his brow. He looked straight at me. "Really?" he said, raising his eyebrows with just a touch of sarcastic mockery. "Like...someone refusing to tell you what she's thinking, even if all the while she's making cryptic little comments designed to keep you up at night wondering what she could possibly mean...Frustrating like that?"

I frowned, considering that. I had to admit, I did see his point.

The rant wasn't over. "Or," he continued, "is it frustrating like, say, she's done a bunch of other strange things—for example, saving your life under impossible circumstances one day, then treating you like a pariah the next—and she never explained any of that, either, even after she promised? Frustrating like that?"

I almost smiled, but I forced my expression into a deeper frown instead. Even though he didn't look it, apparently he was the type to hold grudges. "You're really not over that yet?"

He folded his arms. "Not quite yet."

I leaned back in my chair, considering. "Would another apology help?" I tried at last.

He was having none of it. "An explanation would be better."

I gazed back at him a moment, trying to figure out how best to reply. I had already been far more honest in this conversation than I had with any human, already said too much. I enjoyed the sense that the two of us shared a secret, and I wanted to be honest—but it already felt like I had gone too far. And the thought of him knowing the full truth about what I was filled me with dread.

Before I could decide what I wanted to say next, a particularly irate mental voice cut forcibly into my thoughts. My eyes automatically flickered to the source, and I couldn't stop the laugh that escaped me.

"What?" he said, frowning.

My eyes returned to him and I saw an opportunity to distract him with a bit of honesty of a different kind.

"Your girlfriend thinks I'm being mean to you," I said with an ironic smile. "She's debating whether or not to break up our fight."

McKayla Newton was indeed glowering in my direction, sending a torrent of poisonous thoughts straight at me.

— _The nerve! She gives him the cold shoulder for months and now all of a sudden she thinks he should do whatever she wants. Look at her glare at him—She's playing with him, doesn't he see that? What's her problem anyway? Does she hate his guts, or is she trying to put the moves on him? Get over it, he's already taken you stuck up, prissy—_

"I don't have a girlfriend," he said, then added, "and you're trying to change the subject."

Apparently he wasn't easily sidetracked, but I was going to try anyway. "You might not think of her that way, but it's how she thinks of you."

He shook his head. "There's no way that's true."

From the way he said it, it was clear he knew who I was talking about.

"It is," I said, smiling a little. "I told you, most people are very easy to read."

He clearly remembered that first conversation in Biology, because he said, "Except me."

"Yes," I said softly, "except for you."

I turned my eyes back to his, and as our eyes met, I suddenly concentrated hard. "I wonder why that is," I murmured, more to myself than to him, and focused my gaze to a laser point, imagining there to be an invisible barrier around his head, and picturing myself punching through it.

His eyes dropped away from mine, uncomfortable under the intensity of my stare. Instead he unscrewed the cap from his lemonade, and took a quick drink, avoiding my eyes.

I gave up trying to pry my way into his mind. Instead, something else had my concern.

"Aren't you hungry?" I asked. I couldn't help but worry about his fragile human health. He was normally so responsible and meticulous, so why didn't he take better care of himself?

His eyes flickered briefly back up to me before he stared at the table again. "No," he answered. "You?"

I had to smile. I took it as a good sign he didn't seem to have the slightest suspicion in regards to my diet. "No," I said, "I'm not hungry."

He stared down at the table. "Can you do me a favor?" he asked suddenly.

My smile disappeared, and I eyed him warily. "That depends on what you want," I said carefully. I knew what he wanted most from me—the truth, an explanation. But that was something I couldn't, _wouldn't_ give.

"It's not much," he said, then paused, apparently determined to push me to my limit.

I waited silently, on edge.

"Could you warn me beforehand?" he said at last. "The next time you decide to ignore me? For my own good, or whatever. Just so I'm prepared."

He didn't look at me as he spoke, tracing a finger around the lip of the lemonade bottle.

I stared at him for a second, and then I felt a slow smile spread across my face. I felt like laughing—or singing. I found many of the hidden meanings behind the things he said hard to interpret, but the meaning here seemed pretty clear. If he wanted a warning before I ignored him again—then he must consider being ignored by me a bad thing.

"That sounds fair," I allowed.

He looked up, then nodded once. "Thanks."

"Can I have a favor in return?" I asked.

My agreement had apparently made him more amenable, and he shrugged. "Sure."

"Tell me one of your theories."

He abruptly frowned, and he looked askance at me as if I had played a mean trick on him. "No way."

"You promised me a favor," I reminded him.

He raised both his eyebrows. "And you've broken promises before."

It was true, but I was shameless. "Just one theory," I wheedled. "I won't laugh."

Color was creeping up his neck again. "Yes, you will," he muttered.

My eyes dropped back to the table, I let out a silent sigh, frustrated and disappointed.

I glanced up at him one more time, through my lashes, and found he was watching me. I wondered if he really understood the torture he was putting me through. He compared the way he kept secrets from me to the way I kept secrets from him—but what did he have to fear from my knowing a little of what he was thinking? A little embarrassment? Whereas my secret was dark, hideous—what would he think when he knew the monster behind the face?

I leaned forward, feeling suddenly, oddly desperate. "Please?" I said softly, my voice a perfect blend of plea and persuasion.

His face changed. The muscles slackened, and he seemed to unconsciously lean toward me, until we were both leaning over the table, surprisingly close.

He suddenly shook his head and drew back. "Um...what?" He blinked rapidly, like he'd just had a spell of vertigo. Low blood sugar? He really should have eaten something—I ought to have made him. I vowed I would next time.

However, if it muddled his thoughts, I wasn't going to let the opportunity pass me by.

"One little theory," I coaxed. "Please?"

"Well," he began. "Er, bitten by a radioactive spider?"

I sat back, rolling my eyes to hide my relief. "That's not very creative."

He shrugged again. "Sorry, that's all I've got."

"You're not even close," I said.

He frowned. "No spiders?"

"No spiders."

"No radioactivity?"

"None at all."

"Huh," he muttered, folding his arms.

I laughed—he thought I was a superhero. "Kryptonite doesn't bother me, either," I added.

He frowned at me. "You're not supposed to laugh, remember?"

I forced my mouth into a line, but my twitching shoulders gave away my continued amusement at the irony.

He looked sullen, and he seemed to regret saying anything. "I'll figure it out eventually," he muttered.

That sucked all the amusement from my mood. "I wish you wouldn't try," I said, very quietly.

"How can I not wonder?" he insisted. "I mean...you're impossible."

From his tone, it was clear he wasn't making an accusation, commenting on how difficult I insisted on being when it came to his questions. Rather, he said it the way he might have said, _Someone with powers like yours shouldn't exist._ There was awe there. Wonder.

I forced my mouth to turn up in a smile. And then, trying to make my voice light, teasing, I said, "But what if I'm not a superhero? What if I'm the villain?"

"Oh." He stared at me, as if seeing me for the first time. His eyes sharpened with understanding. "Oh, okay."

The table was silent. In spite of the babble of voices and thoughts of the other students all around, I couldn't hear them. I couldn't hear anything but the beating of his heart as it accelerated. Fear.

Panic gripped me and my breathing stopped as I waited, second by agonizing second, for him to continue. He said nothing.

Finally, I could stand it no more.

"What exactly does _okay_ mean?" I asked in a low voice. There was an edge of demand about the question, but it was outweighed by desperation.

He blinked. He didn't look as though he were finished working through whatever new thoughts he was having, and when he spoke, the words sounded uncertain, as if he wasn't sure if this was what he wanted to say.

"You're dangerous?" he asked. He studied me, my small frame, my delicate features, as though trying to reconcile the word with my physical appearance. I could see it in his eyes, as the natural doubt based on all his common experience twisted, scattered, and then rearranged itself, solidifying into acceptance of what I had been telling him.

The fear was almost overpowering as I realized that this may be the last time I spoke to him. And, I thought with despair, I never had the chance to tell him that I loved him.

But that was only fair. Better for him, that he should run now, while he still had the chance.

"Dangerous," he said again, testing the word out, accustoming himself to it. "But not the villain," he said in a low voice. "No, I don't believe that."

I stared up at him, and for a moment I couldn't respond. Because I wanted to smile—overjoyed at his conclusion. But I was wretched in my relief, because as wonderful as the words were to hear, they weren't true. Even if what I _was—_ a vampire, a monster from a horror film—didn't make me a villain, what I was doing certainly did. I'd made my choice. I was going to hell, as thoroughly as I could—no matter who I ended up dragging down with me.

"You're wrong," I whispered. I couldn't keep looking him in the eye, and my eyes dropped to the table as the shame burned in my mind, making my chest ache.

Still without looking up, I lifted a hand and reached slowly across the table. I saw his hand sitting there, and I suddenly wanted to touch it—to run my fingertips over the middle knuckle, to trace the blue veins that stood out from his pale skin. Or maybe what I wanted was for him to turn his hand over, offering it to me to hold.

I kept my face blank, concealing the sudden wave of self-revulsion that tore through me. Did I want him to hold my hand to comfort me? To reassure me? There was really no end to my depravity—to long for him to comfort me from the fact I was going to destroy his life, deny him everything he had to gain.

My hand halted there for a fraction of a second, the moment too fast for him to notice my hesitation, and then I reached over and snagged the cap of his lemonade as my excuse, where he had left it beside the bottle.

My hand came within inches of his, but he didn't flinch away.

For something to do, to avoid meeting his eyes, I set the cap on its side on the table. Then, with a twist of my fingers, I set it to spinning. It spun as fast as a top, no more than a blur. I felt his eyes watching me, but I didn't look up.

A minute of silence passed, and I kept my eyes on the spinning cap. I concentrated on finding my resolve. I wasn't strong enough to force myself to stay away from him, I knew that. But if he ran away from me...could I love him enough to do the right thing and let him? Could I, even being the villain I was, do that much?

The sudden, loud scrape of chair legs against the linoleum grated in my ears. I glanced halfway up—and saw that he had shoved the chair back from the table, almost violently.

I drew a deep breath, drawing in the burn of his scent. Yes, I could not stay away from him—but if he chose to turn and flee from me, I could let him. I could leave him to the freedom he sought.

I forced myself to finish lifting my eyes to his. This could be the last time I would see his face with my own two eyes—the last time I could gaze on him and take in his every feature with legitimate excuse.

"We're going to be late," he said, looking panicked as he jumped to his feet and snatched up his bag.

I blinked. The resigned agony seeping through me vanished, for the moment, and a smile was once again on my lips. Never the expected. At what point would I learn to expect that? But of course, naturally he would be more terrified of being late for class than being stalked by the villain in a superhero movie.

"I'm not going to class today," I said. I caught the lid between my fingers, then set it to spinning again, faster than before.

"Why not?"

I was sure my tension showed as I smiled up at him again. I tried not to think about how he would react if I told him the truth—that if I went, there was a good chance I would kill him.

"It's healthy to ditch class now and then," I said. Healthy for the vampires to ditch class when human blood was to be spillt. Archie's power of foresight always helped on days like today; he'd already ditched his own morning class.

"Oh," he said. "Well, I guess...I should go?" It came out like a question rather than a statement. As though hoping—or at least wondering—if I were going to invite him to go ditching with me.

I felt a thrill at the thought, and I was tempted—but the last thing I wanted was to start getting him into trouble. It was already bad enough I was interfering in his life, possibly luring him down a path of misery and regret, without trying to undermine his strong sense of responsibility.

I let my eyes fall back to the lemonade cap. "I'll see you later then."

He stood there for a second longer, then turned and hurried for the door, just as the first bell rang. However, he paused again, looking back, as though to see if I had changed my mind.

I was tempted again to call him back, but I forced myself to keep my eyes on the spinning lid.

After a second he turned and left.

I sat where I was a minute longer, watching the cap spin, meandering over the table in a slow dance.

Outside, I could hear the patter of the rain against the roof. I breathed deeply, and his lingering scent in the air burned my lungs.

As I watched, the cap began to wobble, every blemish in the table's surface slowing it further. Before it could fall, I reached out with a single finger and pinned it to the tabletop. Pinching the object between my fingers, I raised it up, gazing down at the ridged metal surface. I breathed again, and despite the cool rain outside, the air was still thick with his scent. I knew when I went outside, the cool, fresh air would cleanse my system, but I inhaled one last time, savoring again the intolerably appealing smell.

 _What if I'm not a superhero? What if I'm the villain?_

I stared down at the lid, slowly turning it over in my fingers.

I had been right—more right than I'd even known in that moment. This wasn't a love story. This was horror, good versus evil, and I was the evil. Heroes didn't burn the way I was burning now—burning to see him again, though he'd only been gone a moment. They wouldn't feel all traces of guilt suddenly overshadowed by undeniable, burning ecstasy.

I pressed the lid to my lips, then slipped it into my pocket. A keepsake, from this momentous conversation—where I had shown more honesty than I ever had before, and whatever he ought to have done, he had not run away.

* * *

I slipped outside, and just as I had expected, the rain seemed to clear the scent from my system. But, it was more a disappointment than a relief. I would have to re-accustom myself to the scent when I saw him again—however, I didn't dread it as I probably should have. I was almost eager for that first moment when the fire raced up my nose and down my throat, as long as it meant I was able to talk to him again.

I knew I was far too hyped up and giddy for my own good, so when I headed out through the rain to my car, and got into the cab, I pulled out a CD I always picked when I wanted to calm myself—Debussy, the same CD I'd listened to that first day after Biology. However, I wasn't really listening, and before long other musical notes were playing through my mind. I'd always had an affinity for music, and once upon a time I had dabbled in composing my own pieces. It had been some time since I'd touched a piano, but now I felt inspiration lightly prodding me at the back of my mind.

I knew the source of this new and sudden inspiration, and I was not distracted from the now-constant focus of my thoughts, but I thought the time may pass more easily than I expected as I mentally began to work on mapping out the harmony.

I was partway through the first movement when a sudden stream of panicked thoughts cut through my concentration like a cold knife.

 _Oh gosh, he looks so bad. Is he okay? Should I run and get someone? He looks like he's going to be sick—_

I saw a glimpse of his face in her mind, so I knew who it was, even before I looked up and saw, not a hundred yards away, McKayla Newton, lowering Beau to the sidewalk. He was limp as a rag doll, and I saw through McKayla's eyes his face was the chalky white of a corpse.

Panic shot through me, and I was out of my car in less than a moment. I didn't even stop to consider as I strode across the lot toward them.

How could this be? He'd seemed perfectly fine when I'd left him.

"Beau?" I called.

I knew it was loud enough to hear, as McKayla instantly started and spun her head in my direction. However, he didn't react, and I felt my panic intensify. I quickened my pace.

"What's wrong?" I demanded, frustrated I couldn't just read her mind—she'd been distracted by my abrupt appearance, and her thoughts weren't at all helpful. My eyes flickered to her accusingly—I wondered if there was any possibility she had been the cause of this. "Is he hurt?" My voice was hard, and I didn't bother to hide the hint of menace.

I was closer now, and I could just make out the sound of his steady heartbeat and his low breathing. As I came up next to him and saw his face, I saw his eyes flicker behind his closed lids.

McKayla got over her automatic irritation at seeing me and focused on the problem at hand. In her mind, I saw flickers of the scene from Biology. Beau with his head down on the table, looking sick, drops of blood against white cards...

I froze where I was as I suddenly remembered the blood typing, and I cut off all air to my lungs. This was dangerous—probably more dangerous than whatever was happening to him now.

"I think he fainted," McKayla said nervously. "I don't know what happened, he didn't even stick his finger."

I breathed again, relieved, tasting on the air the smell of McKayla's fresh blood, but not his. Her open wound wasn't even remotely tempting at the moment.

I went to kneel beside him. McKayla hovered in the background, relieved to have some help, but sullen over the fact it had to be me.

"Beau?" I said gently. "Can you hear me?"

"No," he groaned, in a tone that might as well have added, _Go away_.

Apparently, he was just fine.

I laughed, more relieved than I could have expressed.

"I was trying to help him to the nurse," McKayla inserted, her frustration at my interference winning out over her concern, now that the moment of emergency seemed over. "But he wouldn't go any further." _What is up with her? She ditches class, and then suddenly shows up out of nowhere to come to the rescue? Where was she anyway, sitting in her car? And all the teachers rave about what model students the Cullens are..._

"I'll take him," I said. "You can go back to class." Although my tone was polite, even friendly, it came across more like an order than an offer.

McKayla bristled, but she didn't let it show as she tried to argue. "What? No, I'm supposed to..."

I turned my back to her. I stared down at him, my hands trembling slightly as mingled thrill and terror shot through me at what I was about to do.

I took a breath, feeling the fire in my throat. Then, quickly, like I was trying to get it over with, I slipped my arm around his back, under his arms, and in a moment I had him on his feet.

I stood there for a moment, feeling his limp form leaning heavily against me, my head half against his chest. I could feel his heart pounding near the back of my head.

I felt a tingling thrum in the tips of my fingers. It was hard to believe we were this close—I remembered how I had envied Carine her control, touching a human with such natural care she didn't have to worry about hurting them. Although I made certain our skin didn't come into contact anywhere, I had my arm around him and, judging from his beating heart, though it was a little abnormally fast, I hadn't broken anything by accident.

I started forward, pulling him along at my side, going quickly—though I had been doing well so far near as I could tell, it was better to make our contact as brief as possible—and he staggered to keep up.

"I'm good, I swear," he muttered, and I felt his chin move as he turned his head away from me.

McKayla tried to call after us, but I barely heard her as we quickly outstripped her, and left her standing indecisive in the middle of the sidewalk.

I glanced up at his face, still turned away, and I noticed a slightly green hue.

"You look simply awful," I said, my voice a little too cheery given the situation. But I couldn't help it—I was jubilant with my success, and the fact there didn't seem to be anything really wrong with him.

"Just put me back on the sidewalk," he muttered, tone somewhere between annoyed and struggling to keep his non-existent lunch down. "I'll be fine in a few minutes."

I ignored his complaints and kept pushing us along. I knew by now it wasn't anything serious, but I figured it was better to get him to medical help as soon as possible anyway.

We went for a few seconds more in silence before I asked, unable to help myself, "So you faint at the sight of blood?"

He didn't answer. He closed his mouth, still looking sick. He was white as a ghost.

"And not even your own blood!" I continued, laughing aloud.

I knew I was being unforgivably rude, but I was hyped up again, excited as I kept my arm gently, but firmly wrapped around his waist, and continued to listen to his heart thrumming near my ear.

"I have a weak vasovagal system," he muttered sullenly. "It's just a neurally mediated syncope."

This was too much, and I laughed out loud again. He made a little fainting spell sound like some kind of terminal illness.

His eyes were closed, his lips pressed tightly together, but as I pulled him into the warm office, his eyes opened at the abrupt temperature change.

Mr. Cope, the receptionist, watched us, looking shocked. "Oh my," he began.

"He's having a neurally mediated syncope," I said cheerfully, as I toted him toward the back of the office where the nurse's station was.

Mr. Cope looked alarmed at this. "Should I call nine-one-one?" he asked, eyes wide, already half getting up.

"It's just a fainting spell," Beau muttered, looking as though he very much regretted giving me his line he'd obviously spent a lot of time crafting. He hated people making a big deal about his health.

I vaguely heard Mr. Cope's curiosity follow us, as he recalled how much I'd seemed to hate the new student on that first day, but then shrugged it off—maybe he had been imagining things after all. I was only dimly aware of him as we went on to the nurse's office.

The school medic, Mr. Hammond, was reading a Jason Bourne novel when we came in, and he looked up, shocked as he caught sight of Beau. Before he could even get up, I already had Beau over to the cot. I pushed him lightly to make sure he laid down, then helped him get his feet up on the vinyl mattress. He was too weak to do much, so I took most of the weight, but Mr. Hammond didn't notice.

As soon as we were separated, I quickly crossed to the other side of the room, putting as much distance between us as possible. I could still feel the warmth where his body had been pressed against mine, and I was reacting to it. My muscles were tense, venom filling my mouth.

"They're blood typing in Biology," I said.

Mr. Hammond nodded. "There's always one."

I had to cover my chuckle with a cough. I was still buzzing with excitement, keyed up.

"Just lie down a minute, son," Mr. Hammond said reassuringly. "It'll pass."

"I know," he muttered.

"Does this happen often?" Mr. Hammond asked, wondering briefly if he might have low blood pressure. _Rough luck, for a teenage boy,_ he thought.

Beau sighed. "I have a weak vasovagal system."

Mr. Hammond blinked, bewildered.

"Sometimes," he added.

I felt like he was just digging himself in deeper, and I laughed again.

Mr. Hammond remembered I was there, and turned to give me a disapproving look. "You can go back to class now," he said. _There's nothing worse for a man trying to recover than giggling girls,_ he thought with distaste, and it was accompanied by a medley of a few of his own more humiliating memories.

I was immediately serious, putting on my best reassuring and mature face—considering I was older than he was, I'd learned to do _mature_ very well.

"I'm supposed to stay with him," I said.

Mr. Hammond pressed his mouth into a thin line, but he wasn't one for arguing and, doubting it would do Beau any good to make a big deal of it, said no more.

"I'll get you some ice for your head," he said, then left.

Beau closed his eyes again.

"You were right," he said, out of the blue.

I flashed a smile, my mature look gone as quickly as it had come. "I usually am," I said. "But about what in particular this time?"

"Ditching _is_ healthy," he sighed.

He was quiet then, just breathing in and out. Some of the color began to return to his face.

Wanting to restart the conversation, I said, with a bit of an embarrassed smile, "You scared me for a minute there. I thought that Newton girl had poisoned you."

"Hilarious," he muttered, but his voice sounded a little less strained than it had a minute before.

I continued, keeping my voice light, "Honestly, I've seen corpses with better color." Which was something I was in a position to know. I added, smiling, "I was concerned that I might have to avenge your death."

He sighed a little and his brow furrowed, looking suddenly a little tired. "I bet McKayla's annoyed."

I paused, unsettled by the real concern in his voice. Until this moment, I'd almost forgotten how much I disliked the girl—but it came roaring back with a vengeance.

However, I smiled. "She absolutely loathes me," I agreed brightly.

"You don't know that," he said, almost defensively. Then he hesitated, mouth turning down in a frown, and I could suddenly see him contemplating the possibility. If he knew I could speed across a parking lot like _The Flash_ and stop vans with my bare hands, maybe mind-reading wasn't such a stretch.

In spite of the unpardonable number of hints I'd dropped concerning that power, I realized suddenly I'd rather he didn't have a conscious knowledge of it—it wasn't nearly so strange and terrifying as my other secrets, but it was bizarre enough.

"You should have seen her face," I said in an amused, easy tone. "It was obvious."

"How did you even see us?" he asked, as always finding the exact question that penetrated right to the heart of the tangled mystery. "I thought you were ditching."

This one was easy enough to answer. The truth, even if it wasn't the whole truth, was believable enough.

"I was in my car, listening to a CD."

He didn't react, except a slight twitch of the eyebrow. As if he expected me to say I was out stopping out-of-control trains, and catching bank robbers. I wondered if he was still holding onto the superhero notion, in spite of what I had said. He had said outright he didn't believe I was the villain, anyway.

Just then the door opened and Mr. Hammond reappeared with the ice pack.

His eyes opened automatically as the old nurse approached.

"Here you go, son," Mr. Hammond said, laying the ice across his forehead. He added, "You're looking better."

Of course, he sat up almost immediately, taking the cold compress in hand. "I think I'm okay," he said. He looked around as though testing his head.

Mr. Hammond opened his mouth to make a gentle objection and tell him he better rest awhile longer, but just then the door opened again and Mr. Cope's balding head appeared.

Even before he spoke, the puff of air that blew into the room brought with it the faintest hint of the smell of blood. I sensed McKayla's sullen thoughts as she, standing in the office area, struggled to hold a larger girl upright.

"We've got another one," Mr. Cope announced.

Beau got up quickly, looking eager to have the attention shifted to another victim. "Here," he said, handing the compress back to the nurse. "I don't need this."

McKayla appeared in the door then, half-staggering under the weight of Leann Stephens. The girl's face was a sallow green, and I saw in a flash the stream of crimson blood dripping from the hand she had pressed to her face.

"Oh no," I murmured. Once upon a time I might have been eager to get out simply to avoid the temptation of such fresh blood, but now my first thought was the person with the weak vasovagal system standing beside me. "Go out to the office, Beau."

From his angle where we stood, he hadn't gotten a look at Leann's hand, and my sharp, urgent tone made him look down at me in surprise.

"Trust me," I insisted. "Go."

Without another word he spun and fled the office, half tripping in the doorway as he squeezed through before the door could swing shut. I stayed right on his heels until he reached the office and stopped. He took a deep breath.

"You actually listened to me," I marveled. I wanted to add, _And I didn't even have to make any false promises._ However, considering it seemed he still wasn't over that yet, I thought it better not to joke around about it too much.

He nodded. "I smelled the blood."

I didn't know how to react. "People can't smell blood."

He shrugged. "I can—that's what makes me sick. It smells like rust...and salt."

I stared up at him, incredulous. So now apparently he was a bloodhound, too. I wondered at what point I should begin contemplating the possibility he wasn't actually fully human.

He caught my stare. "What?" he said.

I looked away. "It's nothing."

Just then McKayla emerged into the office out of the infirmary. She shot a quick look between the two of us, suspicious, but she made a Herculean effort to hide it. Finally she turned to me.

"Thanks so much for your help, Edythe," she said. If I had to put a flavor to her voice, it would probably be a mix of honey and strychnine. "I don't know what Beau here would have done without you." A stream of acidic thoughts played in the background as she spoke.

"Don't mention it," I said, smiling.

"You look better," she said to Beau, in the same falsely happy voice that made it sound as though she were in severe pain. "I'm so glad."

"Just keep your hand in your pocket," he said, grimacing slightly.

"It's not bleeding anymore," she said, and her voice was normal again. Unlike me, she didn't laugh at the notion of his fainting at the sight of blood, and she was already thinking how she would maim anyone who so much as chuckled.

I looked away and, though her thoughts weren't directed at me, I felt guilty and chagrined. I should have been thinking that way. Instead I had probably only contributed to his trauma. Getting sick when you smelled blood really wasn't all that funny, and he'd come up with all that nonsense about vasovagal systems—it made me wonder if he'd been bullied as a kid.

Thoughts of potential bullies made my fingers twitch.

"Are you coming to class?" McKayla asked. _Don't worry, I won't let anyone make fun of you._

He shook his head. "No thanks. I'd just have to turn around and come back."

"Yeah, I guess..." She trailed off reluctantly. She knew this meant he was probably going to be with me for the hour-long class, and she shot a dark look in my direction. She raised her voice as she added, "So are you going this weekend? To the beach?"

Though she was speaking to Beau, her eyes were fixed on me, hoping she might inflict the sting of exclusion. I didn't give her the satisfaction of a response, instead leaning against the counter and my eyes turned away inattentively. However, she couldn't know her words had exactly the desired effect—even though I had seen in her mind that it was a group trip, the thought of him having plans with the girl made my stomach twist.

He smiled. "Sure. I said I was in."

I kept perfectly still, afraid if I moved, I would betray my agitation. He'd agreed to let me drive him to Seattle, but now he'd also agreed to McKayla's plans, and with a lot less persuasion and argument. What did that mean?

McKayla smiled. "We're meeting at my parents' store at ten," she said, then paused as she suddenly saw a flaw in her plan. _Oh gosh, I shouldn't have said that. What if she shows up now? She would totally do that, just to spite me. I couldn't tell her to get lost, Beau would think I was being horrible. Stupid, stupid, stupid..._

"I'll be there," Beau said.

McKayla's eyes flickered from me back to him, and though his tone was friendly enough, something in it had her mind whirling again.

 _What's that? He never agrees to anything that fast. It almost sounds like he's trying to get rid of me. Does he want to be alone with her? Is that it? Jeremy thinks he's totally into her...I don't get it. Maybe she has a face like a supermodel, but I bet it's plastic surgery or something, I mean their step mom_ is _a doctor, she's probably experimenting on all of them. And she's so horrible to him, I heard her laughing at him when she was helping him down here—he was green! And she was laughing! Why does he put up with that? She's just going to play around with him and drop him when she gets bored anyway, she should mind her own business. Ugh, I can't_ stand _girls like her._

"I'll see you in Gym, then," she said slowly, starting reluctantly toward the door.

"Yeah, see you," Beau answered, again his tone slightly warmer, more friendly than usual, but an obvious dismissal.

McKayla seemed to take this as confirmation of her suspicions, and her mouth turned down in a frown. Her shoulders sagged slightly as she turned and walked through the door.

He watched her go, his brow furrowing, looking troubled. Then he sighed and groaned. "Ugh, Gym."

Several thoughts went through me at once. One, McKayla's condemning thoughts of my laughter at the episode had me feeling strangely contrite. Even though she was the one heading back to class and I was the one standing with him, I couldn't push away the feeling I had somehow lost. I also wondered if she was right about Beau's apparent motivations for appearing so unusually eager to agree to go to the beach—maybe she was, or maybe he was finally starting to come out of his shell, and he was more interested in going out and doings things socially. Either way it didn't matter because I couldn't get the worried, almost depressed look on his face as he watched her go out of my mind. My last thought was that he didn't seem at all pleased at the thought of going to Gym, and I couldn't help but notice he did still look a bit peaky.

I had approached him again now, and I offered, "I can take care of that."

My resolution to let him be responsible was in shreds. The fact he still didn't look entirely recovered was a good excuse, but really after McKayla's unwitting victory over me I wasn't eager to leave them alone together again. I could still hear McKayla's thoughts, now back in the Biology room, and she was resolving not to mention the fainting episode again, and make sure no one else mentioned it either.

Still perturbed by my interference, she consoled herself, _At least we'll have Gym together. I'll play extra hard and make sure he doesn't have to do anything. Who cares about Edythe Cullen anyway, even if he_ thinks _he likes her, he'll change his mind when he gets to know the personality behind the face. Great skin and perfect hair don't mean much when all she does is make other people feel like dirt..._

I didn't listen to any more. Her thoughts bothered me more than they should have. Of course, she was completely wrong. I didn't see how I could possibly make other people feel like dirt when I barely spoke to them and was almost always flawlessly polite. As for her apparent assumption I was targeting Beau for sport and would eventually get bored and leave him hanging, that was so ridiculous it was laughable.

However, in spite of myself, I found my thoughts lingering on what she thought, and briefly I wondered. _Did_ I make Beau feel bad about himself? Like dirt? I didn't see how that was possible, considering how utterly and obviously fascinated I was with him, how every word he spoke had me on tender-hooks of anticipation, how, when I looked at his face, I had trouble making myself look away.

I decided to leave these ruminations until later—right now I had a mission, and that was to get Beau out of the Gym and keep him separated from McKayla.

"Go sit down and look pale," I told him in a low voice.

He must have really been eager to get out of the Gym, because he immediately did what I asked, going to sit in one of the old folding chairs and leaning his head back against the wall. He closed his eyes, and he really did look ill. He was a better actor than I'd given him credit for, though maybe that was just because his full color hadn't returned yet.

Mr. Cope had returned to his desk and I approached, making my face take on a perfect look of concern.

"Mr. Cope?" I said softly, keeping my voice down as though I thought Beau needed quiet, and because I'd found speaking in a low voice sometimes made it sound more persuasive.

He looked up and something about the anxious look on my face made him give me his full attention.

"Yes?" he answered, a little unsteadily.

I dropped my voice a little more and, injecting just the right note of worry and helplessness, I said, "Beau has Gym next hour, and I don't think he feels well enough to go. Actually, I was thinking I should drive him home. Do you mind excusing him from class?" I leaned over the desk a little closer, looking imploringly into his eyes.

His thought processes were momentarily all in a tangle. He wasn't actually thinking anything particularly inappropriate—his mind was too blank for that.

"Do you need to be excused, too, Edythe?" he managed at last. Eager to do anything to please me.

An odd thought occurred to me then. Mr. Cope was unsettled and nervous talking to me, being around me. It affected him physically, made his heart speed up, injected adrenaline into his bloodstream. However, the response wasn't out of fear or an instinctual sense of what I was, but simply because I was physically attractive. Was it possible, Beau's apparent nervousness when he was talking to me...?

I leaned back, satisfied. "No, I have Mr. Goff," I said. "He won't mind."

Mr. Cope tried to get a grip. _...Never considered myself as having a weakness for young girls. Get a hold of yourself, she's probably half your age._

He had that backward of course—I was easily twice as old as he was.

"Okay," he said, "it's all taken care of." He turned, and was relieved for an excuse to turn his attention from me. "You feel better, Beau."

Beau nodded very slowly, overdoing the weak-act. He really did want to miss Gym. Or maybe he was afraid Mr. Cope would change his mind if he looked too eager.

I turned my back on Mr. Cope as he hurriedly found some paperwork to look over to distract himself.

"Can you walk, or do you want me to help you again?" I asked, smirking, knowing how much he didn't like being pampered.

"I'll walk," he answered, predictably.

He took his time standing up, even though Mr. Cope wasn't watching, apparently still worried he might not be over it. But once he was on his feet he looked around, and he seemed fine.

Still, I went to the door and held it open for him, as though for a weak invalid coming out of a hospital, or a gentleman for a lady. I smiled politely, but my eyes glittered at the joke.

Color crept up his face as he passed on through, and his eyes dropped away from mine.

I felt a flicker of guilt as I thought again about what McKayla had thought. Teasing him was so fun it was hard to resist—I enjoyed the funny expressions he made and the way he sometimes got irritated. But was McKayla right? Was I making him feel stupid or self-conscious? I didn't mean it that way, but then, he'd thought I regretted saving him from the van, so clearly he was capable of complete and total ludicrous misinterpretation.

I recalled how he'd reacted when I'd called him an idiot. Rather than shrug it off or apologize to diffuse hostility, as he normally might have done, it had made him angry.

Was it possible that, though maybe he did find me physically attractive, he had some notion that I acted like I did because I found him ridiculous? That, as McKayla assumed, he thought the only reason I was paying attention to him now was because I was planning to make a fool out of him for my own entertainment? Was that why he always seemed so on edge, so wary, whenever he talked to me? Like, I had called him an idiot not because he had made the absolutely absurd accusation that I might actually regret having saved his life, but because I took some kind of perverse pleasure in making him feel like a fool?

It was just a theory, and I had no idea if it was true. It seemed ridiculous—after everything I had said, it must be obvious that I was obsessed with him. More obvious than I would have wanted it to be at this point. But maybe I would try not to tease him so much—at least until I was sure he understood why I liked to tease him. Then it would be fun to him, too, rather than something to make him feel like an object of mockery.

I was doubly glad now for how circumstances had played out. I was looking forward to the alone time to talk. I could ask him some personal questions, maybe finally get some answers. And that would surely have the bonus of making him realize I was interested in him as a person. His likes, his dislikes...not like I thought of him as some cheap way to pass an otherwise boring day.

He had paused outside, and he tilted his head back, his eyes closed, as though he enjoyed the feel of the cool rain against his face.

I pursed my lips slightly. I'd thought he didn't like the cold, or the wet. That was one of the first things I'd learned about him. But he always had to do the unexpected.

"Thanks for that," he said abruptly, and when he looked down at me, he was smiling. "It's almost worth getting sick to miss Gym."

Always the unexpected.

I let my eyes wander away from his—I could make myself think clearly even when he was smiling at me, but it was more difficult. "Anytime," I answered.

"So are you going?" he asked. "This Saturday—the beach trip?" He sounded hopeful.

I felt suddenly warm at the notion he wanted me to be there, that he was even willing to brave McKayla's likely displeasure for it.

The thought of McKayla's face if she saw me show up at her store, and the thought of spending time with him on a weekend, outside school, was tempting. However, it was supposed to be sunny Saturday. But depending on which beach they were going to...it might not be sunny everywhere. I could ask Archie to check for me.

I already felt myself tentatively warming to the idea.

"Where are you all going?" I asked casually, still gazing out into the rain.

"Down to La Push, to First Beach."

My mouth tightened slightly with distaste and disappointment. Of course it would be _that_ beach. It didn't matter what the weather was.

I looked up at him and forced a smile.

"I really don't think I was invited."

"I just invited you," he said, though he already looked resigned.

"Let's you and I not antagonize poor McKayla any more this week," I said, enjoying how my teasing tone this time, instead of pitting us against each other as enemies, put us on the same team. "We don't want her to snap."

"Fine, whatever," he muttered, turning away from me. I couldn't tell whether he was annoyed by the way I seemed to turn us both against McKayla with my words, or if it was because I wasn't going.

We had reached the parking lot now. However, instead of heading toward my car, he turned, making a straight line for his truck.

Shocked, almost angry at the thought of being cheated out of this time I had been expecting, without thinking I reached out and seized him by the jacket. The sudden movement halted him in his tracks and jerked him back half a step.

"Where are you going?" I demanded.

He stared back at me a second, surprised. I couldn't tell if it was because of my suddenly desperate tone, or because he felt the unnatural strength in my arm when I yanked him back, without thinking, without effort.

I waited for him to reply, but he only continued to stare down at me, eyes swirling with thoughts I couldn't begin to guess.

"Beau?" I said at last.

He blinked. "Uh, what?"

"I asked where you were going," I insisted again.

His brow knitted. "Home." He considered, then added, "Or am I not?"

I liked the uncertainty in his voice—like he was waiting for my invitation.

I smiled. "Didn't you hear me promise to take you safely home? Do you think I'm going to let you drive in your condition?"

The corners of his mouth turned down slightly, trying to hide his confusion. "What condition?"

My smile widened. "I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but you have a weak vasovagal system." There was no way he could take that as my making fun—not with the affectionate way the words came out of my mouth, like the two of us were in on a private joke.

He snorted. "I think I'll survive." He tried for his truck again, but I gripped his jacket even more tightly than before. I wasn't going to let him get away.

He turned back, frowning. "Okay, why don't you tell me what you want me to do?"

That sounded like acquiesce to me. "Very sensible," I said, smiling. "You're going to get into my car, and I am going to drive you home." I probably sounded like a shady kidnapper.

His frown deepened. "I have two issues with that. One, it's not necessary, and two, what about my truck?"

He was always so difficult. He was more agreeable when McKayla asked him to do something—she must have been wrong, that he agreed so quickly and enthusiastically because he was trying to end the conversation as soon as possible, so he could be alone with me. If that were the case, he would jump at the chance now, instead of fighting me tooth and nail. I would have to remember in future that McKayla's interpretations of his motivations weren't all that reliable. She was about as good at reading him as I was.

Then again, maybe the reason he seemed more agreeable with McKayla was that, when he _did_ say no to something, she did the polite thing and let it be. The only really pushy person that I had seen Beau interact with, who kept on going even after a fairly firm denial, was me. Even Taylor didn't push him as far as I did.

Unfortunately for him, though I might have been afraid of a lot of things, being too pushy wasn't one of them.

"One," I said, " _necessary_ is a subjective word—" from my point of view, at this particular moment I was unwilling to suffer disappointment—"and two, I'll have Archie drop it off after school."

He frowned, staring back at me, and he seemed to be considering something.

Finally I said, my eyebrow raised and a challenge in my voice, "Are you going to put up a fuss?"

He sighed. "Is there any point in resisting?"

I smiled widely, trying to feel gratified rather than guilty at my triumph. It really was better for him to be driven home, just in case. Or so I told myself.

"It warms my cold heart to see you learning so quickly," I said softly, still smiling. I found myself thinking of our conversation in the cafeteria again—I really did sound like a villain.

Confident that he would follow me now, I finally let go of his jacket and turned in the direction of my car. "This way," I said.

I didn't feel totally assured he was going to go along until he was in the passenger seat, the door shut. I locked the doors as I turned on the engine, then turned up the heat so he would be more comfortable—his hair was soaked from the rain, so dark it looked almost black. I turned down the music to a background level.

He blinked. "Is that 'Clair de Lune'?"

I glanced at him. I wouldn't have expected someone his age to be familiar with this particular music. "You're a fan of Debussy?"

He shrugged. "My mom plays a lot of classical stuff around the house. I only know my favorites."

"It's one of my favorites, too," I said, pleasantly surprised to discover such an unexpected connection.

He smiled. "Well, imagine that. We have something in common."

He said it in a light, joking way, and I was supposed to laugh, but I couldn't. One thing we had in common—out of the thousands of things we didn't have in common. We weren't even the same type of being. We didn't eat the same things, we weren't even born in the same decade. I was born almost a century before he was even thought of.

I pulled smoothly out of the parking lot and started off down the road. I stared straight ahead of me, out into the rain lightly pattering against the windshield.

I was holding my breath since I had gotten into the car. I knew exactly how potent his scent would be in here, in such an enclosed space. But this was a good opportunity to test myself, prepare for the long drive to Seattle, so I couldn't let it pass me by. Besides, I hated wasting this short, precious time with silence, and I would need air to speak.

Slowly, carefully, I inhaled through my nose.

My grip on the steering wheel tightened. I'd been right, it _was_ stronger in here, in such a small, warm space. However, I hadn't guessed how the rain would affect it. The cool musk of the rain on his skin and in his hair enhanced the smell in a way I never could have anticipated. I felt the venom fill my mouth, and even though I had eaten so well just the night before, for a second I was intoxicated by the thought of how his blood would taste...

I thought I might rip the steering wheel from the control column. No, I couldn't let myself think that way. Even a split second lapse was unforgivable. If McKayla Newton got in a car with him, she wouldn't be thinking about consuming him.

I had to be better than her in every way, or I should stop what I was doing now. I had to be better—more thoughtful, more careful. I had to know him better, understand him better, be able to give him what he wanted and needed—I had to be able to make him happier than she could make him, or I didn't deserve him. No, of course I didn't deserve him—but if I couldn't do better for him than McKayla would do in my place, then I didn't deserve to even try.

I breathed again, letting the burn sear up my nose and down my throat. The agony was almost intolerable, but after a moment, I felt my control return.

Still, it seemed better to think about something else. And I was wasting time anyway.

"What's your mother like?" I asked. This was a question I had been wanting to ask for some time, ever since that first conversation, when he had told me why he had come to Forks. I turned my head so I could watch his face as he responded.

He stared straight ahead. "She kind of looks like me," he said. "Same eyes, same color hair—but she's short. She's an extravert, and pretty brave. She's also slightly eccentric, a little irresponsible, and a very unpredictable cook."

As he rattled off all his mother's qualities, his whole aspect seemed to change. He spoke warmly, more affection than exasperation in his voice as he described her faults. There was a doting protectiveness in his tone, and he sounded more like an older brother talking about a younger sister than a son talking about his mother.

His face fell slightly, and he added, "She was my best friend."

I stared at him for a long moment. "How old are you, Beau?" I asked at last.

He paused. We were at the house now, and I pulled the car into the drive. Outside, the rain pounded against the roof of the car in a deluge. I knew he didn't like the rain, but I was glad for it. The sound of the heavy deluge made me feel as if we were really alone, isolated from the rest of the world. Just the two of us.

"I'm seventeen," he said, glancing back at me. He seemed bewildered by the intensity in my face.

"You don't seem seventeen," I murmured.

He suddenly laughed.

"What?" I said, so startled I was almost angry.

He grinned. "My mom always said I was born thirty-five years old and that I get more middle-aged every year." He chortled again, then sighed. "Well, someone has to be the adult."

He glanced at me again. "You don't seem much like a junior in high school, either," he noted.

I remembered Mr. Cope's chagrin at even looking at a girl he thought was half his age, and winced as I considered the fact Beau didn't even come up to a quarter of mine.

I was eager to keep on the subject of his mother. I loved the way his eyes seemed to brighten when he spoke about her, how he became more animated. Clearly he liked talking about his mother more than talking about himself.

"Why did your mother marry Phil?" I asked.

He blinked. He seemed taken aback by the question. He thought about it for a moment.

"My mom..." he said slowly, considering. "She's very young for her age. I think Phil makes her feel even younger." He grinned a little sheepishly and shrugged. "Anyway, she's crazy about him."

I watched his facial expressions carefully, and listened to the inflections in his tone. Something about that last throwaway line gave me pause. It didn't sound insincere or false by any means, but it felt like there was another layer of thought or emotion behind the sentiment I was missing.

I didn't know how to put my question into words, so I simply asked, "Do you approve?"

He shrugged again. "I want her to be happy, and he's who she wants."

I nodded hesitantly, my mind racing as understanding slowly came upon me. I didn't think he disliked this Phil in any way, or bear him any ill will. But he didn't have a close relationship with him either—Phil was a 'good guy,' but he wasn't a father figure, or really close enough Beau could consider him family. He simply accepted his mother's choice, wanted her to be happy.

There was a greater kindness, a greater selflessness behind his words than would have been immediately apparent to anyone else. It was obvious from everything he had said that, a short time ago, his mother had been the closest person to him in the world, the person who he had spent all his time caring for, without asking for anything in return. His best friend. Now his mother had someone else to take care of her—her husband was her new partner.

Beau _could_ have been jealous, as someone else in his situation might have been. He could have hated his mother's new husband for coming between them, taking his place as the most important person in her life. Instead, he had left, banished himself to this little rainy town so his mother wouldn't have to choose. Maybe there was a reason he so rarely smiled, besides the chill of the cold rain that never seemed to cease. Maybe he didn't smile because, where before he had had a best friend, now he was alone.

I felt a sudden ache in my chest.

"That's very generous," I said softly. "I wonder..." I hesitated.

He glanced back at me, curious. "What?"

I stared into his eyes, and I couldn't stop the question from rushing from my mouth.

"Would she extend the same courtesy to you, do you think?" I asked. "No matter who your choice was?"

I knew from the moment the question was out that it was wrong of me to ask it. A roaming, minor-league baseball player couldn't be compared to a vampire in terms of eligibility. If his mother loved her son half as much as I knew he did her, if she had a clue what I was, she would rightfully want him as far from me as possible.

Yet I couldn't suppress the sudden, intense longing. Now that I suddenly understood the void that existed in his life, I couldn't stop myself yearning to be the one to fill it. To be the most important person, to whisk away the homesickness he must feel away from the person he loved most.

"I—I think so," he stuttered as his eyes met mine, then looked away, nervous. Afraid of me? Uncomfortable somehow by the strange way I spoke and acted? Or was the reason behind this reaction closer to Mr. Cope's?

I relaxed, slightly cheered by that last thought.

"But she's the adult," he went on. "On paper at least. It's a little different."

"No one too scary, then," I said, smiling.

He grinned. It seemed talking about his mother had loosened him up. "What do you mean by scary? Tattoos and facial piercings?"

"That's one definition, I suppose," I said reluctantly. A rather non-threatening one, by my standards.

He noticed my tone, and asked, "What's your definition?"

I preferred not to go into detail on that—my mind was full of more than a few gory examples I didn't want to think about.

"Do you think I could be scary?" I asked instead. I tried to make my voice light and joking, though it had to be obvious by now what I was driving at. I remembered my earlier resolution to be subtle, lest I make him uncomfortable and nervous the way attention from McKayla and the other girls seemed to, and could have sighed at myself. So much for subtle.

However, he didn't look away, or look uncomfortable—after talking about his mother he seemed more open than I remembered seeing him, less guarded. He stared at me for a long moment, studying me, as though contemplating the question. But he seemed to look much longer than necessary.

I felt strange, under his suddenly intense gaze. The look in his eyes as he stared reminded me vaguely of the way Jeremy used to stare at me, back when he was at the peak of his outrageous fantasies—with total absorption, like he could look at my face forever, for no other reason than because he simply enjoyed looking at it. Unlike Jeremy, however, his eyes remained on my face, and didn't wander anywhere else. And unlike Jeremy, or other stares others had directed at me before, it didn't irritate or annoy me. Instead, my fingers tingled, and my cold body felt strangely warm—hot, even. I felt a strange mix of embarrassed self-consciousness and buzzing excitement.

Finally, the intense focus faded and he shrugged, going back to normal. "It's kind of hard to imagine that," he said.

I frowned and looked away, trying to hide the dizzying confusion spinning in my head.

He took my frown as dismay at his answer, and reassured me quickly, "But, I mean, I'm sure you could be, if you wanted to."

I glanced back at him. I tilted my head and I smiled incredulously. After everything I had said, after seeing me stop a van, the only reason he would admit I might be dangerous was to keep from hurting my ego.

"So," he said after a pause, "are you going to tell me about your family? It's got to be a much more interesting story than mine."

 _Interesting_ —I wasn't so sure. Horrifying, certainly.

"What do you want to know?" I said slowly, carefully. We were entering dangerous territory now.

"The Cullens adopted you?" he asked.

I nodded. "Yes."

He paused. He looked at me hesitantly for a moment. When he spoke, his voice was quiet, halting. "What happened to your parents?"

I relaxed a little in relief. That wasn't a hard question. "They died many years ago."

He looked down. "I'm sorry."

I glanced back at him. He was a sensitive, kind person. He never asked personal questions out of a morbid desire to sate his own curiosity or gather cheap gossip he could dole out later to make himself seem more interesting.

In this case, I was glad to be able to reassure him. "I don't really remember them clearly," I said. "Carine and Earnest have been my parents for a long time now."

"And you love them," he said.

"Yes," I said softly, and a slow smile touched my lips. "I can't imagine two better people."

He smiled a little, too. "Then you're very lucky."

"I know it," I whispered. He was right—without Carine, I would have died in 1918. And more importantly, had I been changed by any vampire other than Carine, there was not a single doubt in my mind the monster I would be now. She had given me a place to follow my conscience, shown me through her example how to listen to it, rather than suppress and ignore it—I knew no other vampire would have given me that. I was lucky—so often I took what I had for granted.

My conscience now pricked at me. How disappointed would Carine be in me now—now that I was deliberately becoming the villain?

"And your brother and sister?" he asked.

I glanced at his face, open, as fascinated by my answers as I was with his.

I looked away, and my eyes went to the clock on the dash. I sighed quietly to myself.

"My brother and sister...and Jessamine and Royal for that matter, are going to be quite upset if they have to stand in the rain waiting for me."

"Oh," he said, looking startled. "Sorry, I guess you have to go."

In spite of the words, he didn't move, his eyes still on me. He seemed almost as reluctant for our time to be up as I was. Hot pleasure swept through me at the thought—tainted by guilt. I didn't want to leave, but it was better if I left now. I needed time to think over the events of today, before I did something rash.

"And," I said, smiling, "you probably want your truck back before Chief Swan gets home and you have to explain about the syncopal episode."

He frowned. "I'm sure he's already heard," he muttered with distaste. "There are no secrets in Forks."

I laughed, too suddenly, too loudly, and I wondered if he picked up on the slight note of hysteria. If only he knew.

"Have fun at the beach," I said at last, smiling. "Good weather for sunbathing."

The rain continued to pour down on the roof of the car in sheets.

"Won't I see you tomorrow?" he asked.

"No. Eleanor and I are starting the weekend early." I was somewhat regretting having made the plans now—but, considering what I was doing, there was no such thing as too much hunting at this point, and Eleanor was already convinced I'd lost my mind enough lately as it was.

He looked disappointed, but he tried to hide it. "What are you going to do?" he asked.

"We'll be hiking the Goat Rocks Wilderness, just south of Rainier," I answered. It was one of Eleanor's favorite spots—she was eager for bear season.

"Oh," he said, "sounds fun." He slumped slightly in his seat, staring out the windshield.

I watched him for a moment, conflicted. I couldn't stop the thrill that shot through me as I saw again the look of disappointment, more obvious now. He was disappointed he wouldn't see me tomorrow. Yet the disappointment I saw in the curve of his shoulders also seared my conscience. I was getting exactly what I wanted—exactly what I had fervently hoped for. And he had absolutely no idea the future I was walking him into. Like a spider luring in a fly, a hawk swooping down on a field mouse—I was leading him toward destruction for my own gratification.

I knew I should stop what I was doing, take it all back before it was too late. But I wouldn't. Because I could feel myself already dreading the long weekend apart. Once upon a time these trips up the mountains to hunt big game had been the sole redeeming part of my existence, how I got from one week to the next. Now the thought of leaving town for a few days was torture. Bad enough I wouldn't be able to talk to him again, but what if something happened to him while I was away? Humans were so fragile...so breakable...

"Will you do something for me this weekend?" I asked. I turned my head, looking him straight in the eyes, and my face was more intense, more serious than I meant it to be.

He blinked, confused. He nodded vaguely, though he seemed distracted as he gazed back into my eyes.

I tried to make my voice light.

"Don't be offended, but you seem to be one of those people who just attract accidents like a magnet. Try not to fall into the ocean or get run over by anything, all right?"

Of course, the greatest irony was that he could probably never do anything more dangerous than what he was doing right now, sitting alone in a small, closed car with me, with no witnesses close by. What would he do if he ever found out the truth? He knew there was something different about me—but there was quite a bit of difference between Peter Parker and Dracula. He would probably run. And that was exactly what he should do.

I smiled to hide my tension, and so he wouldn't take my honest request as a jibe at his expense.

"I'll see what I can do," he said seriously.

Then he got out of the car and dashed for the porch, desperate to be out of the pelting rain.

I curled my fingers around the truck key I'd just picked from his jacket pocket. As I pulled quickly away from the house, my eyes lingered for a moment on his running back.

 _Run,_ I thought at him. _Run while you still can._

But as I turned the car and started quickly back down the street, I knew, conscience or not, I didn't really mean it.

* * *

A/N: Hey!

Definitely one of the most difficult chapters up to this point. (It was basically one nonstop conversation. I won't be surprised if this chapter comes off as rougher than normal, as a result of trying to write around things that were said and/or physical reactions that are basically set in stone from the original. Unfortunately the original Midnight Sun draft wasn't always helpful—my impression of some of the conversations was that SM had just scribbled something in there fast based on the original and thought, 'I'll come back to this later when I get some more creative ideas.' Which can often be the best way to go with a draft when the alternative is just getting stuck, but it means I have to think more.)

Anyway, I did my best, and it's definitely been an interesting challenge. If it feels overly long, I hope you'll forgive me for that, but even if it took 15,000 words, I really wanted to make it flow as smoothly as I could. (Even with Edythe's frustratingly constant mood swings.)

Thanks for reading! If you have a moment, let me know what you thought, and I'll see you next time! C:

Posted 8/20/18


	8. Harmony

A/N: Back yet again. I read over this chapter last week, but since the writing was rougher than I remembered, plus it felt like I had about a hundred other things I was trying to get done, I decided to delay it by a week.

It's been one of the busiest writing months I've had in a long time, getting some work done on projects both old and new. Consequently, my brain has been immersed in the philosophies and challenges of writing in general. Sometimes it can be painful to look back on old writing that represented your best effort at the time, but mostly I feel encouraged to be able to track certain ways my writing has improved over the long haul, even if in the short-term it often feels like the quality is constantly fluctuating.

Thanks so much for reading so far! Hope you'll enjoy this next chapter, and see you at the end! C:

* * *

Chapter 7: Harmony

When I got back to school, the final hour wasn't quite up yet, so I waited out in my car. I was glad of the time to think.

His scent lingered. I kept the windows up, letting it torch my throat and lungs, trying to get used to it.

I probably should have been contemplating my last guilty act—my latest step down the road to hell—but instead I found my thoughts going back to that look he had given me in the car, when he was apparently trying to decide if I had the potential to be frightening or not.

I thought of Mr. Cope, and even Jeremy. Physical attraction. Or—what was that word McKayla had used? 'Into'? Was he _into_ me?

I didn't know. In that moment in the car, I had felt almost certain of it, but now I wasn't so sure. There were times when he was around me his heart rate seemed to speed up, or his face went blank the way Mr. Cope's had. But those physical signs could just as easily be caused by fear or shock as attraction. Consequently, a comparison to Mr. Cope or Jeremy was inconclusive.

It was hard to imagine Beau having the kind of fantasies about me Jeremy used to have—he knew I wasn't normal, and based on what he had said, seemed to suspect that I wasn't even human. When I had touched his hand that time in the Biology room, he had felt how cold it was, and he had immediately jerked away. And when I had helped him to the infirmary just today, he must have felt the icy chill of my body, how hard, how inhuman it was. No, I couldn't imagine him having any kind of fantasies like those.

My mouth twisted as thinking about Jeremy brought back a few of his most-often reoccurring daydreams. There were definitely times a photographic memory was anything but a blessing. Even some of the more harmless, less graphic thoughts made me grimace with distaste.

However, as a few flickered unwillingly through my mind, they shifted. In the fantasies, Jeremy's face became Beau's instead. Instead of being in Jeremy's mind, I was seeing myself in Beau's mind—staring straight at me, just like in the car, only more intense. Beau, imagining himself wrapping his arms around my waist, me letting him pull me against his chest. Cupping his hand around my face as my arms wound around his neck, my fingers twisting in his hair. Him, leaning down until I could feel the heat of his breath on my slightly parted lips...

I was breathing too fast, feeling his scent saw up and down my throat, and there the daydream suddenly halted. I gripped the armrest on the car door. I knew exactly what would happen if that happened—If I allowed myself to get that close.

What exactly was I doing? Did I really want him to be attracted to me—attracted to me, when I couldn't even get close to him? When I could give him nothing? I would drive him to madness.

I bowed my head, burying my face in my hands. What I was doing was so wrong. Unforgivable. I should have died back in 1918, rather than exist now to do nothing but torment a perfectly good boy. He deserved to have a normal life, with a normal girl. To enjoy all the things a human life had to offer.

I pulled my hands slowly away from my face, and I stared down at them. I suddenly hated them, hated what I was—I hated that I was cold and hard as stone, I hated the strength and the burning thirst for human blood. I hated that I wasn't human—when, at this moment, I didn't think I had ever felt more human in my life.

The passenger door suddenly opened with a click, and I jerked in my seat, startled.

Eleanor laughed as she slid inside. _Wow. Never caught you by surprise before, this must be a first._

I shrugged, trying to compose myself.

"You know, I can't read minds, but you've been so erratic lately I wouldn't be surprised if Mr. Goff thinks you're on diet pills. Where were you today?"

I shrugged, looking away. "Nowhere. I was just doing a good deed. Caring for the sick."

Eleanor paused, opening her mouth to ask what I was going on about, but as she inhaled she caught the scent.

"Oh," she said, understanding washing across her face. "That boy again. You actually had him in the car? Wasn't that tough on you? Or are you over it, now that you're so in love with him and all?"

I sighed and looked away, mouth pressing into a thin line.

Eleanor inhaled again, deeply, testing the scent. "Huh," she said. "I sort of see the appeal. Interesting flavor, isn't it—Yo girl, easy there."

I was glaring at her, my lips curled back from my teeth. She eyed me warily.

 _Calm down, I was just saying. It was a compliment._

I breathed deeply through my nose and turned away from her, trying to get my temper under control. Being so touchy wasn't going to help my cause, or reassure them I was capable of rational thought.

The others arrived. Royal immediately noticed the foreign scent and his lip curled back from his teeth in disgust. He glared at the back of my head as he slid into the backseat. He always seemed to be in a bad mood these days.

I was more worried about Jessamine's reaction. She tasted the air as she got into the car, and like Eleanor, noticed the appeal of the scent. I didn't like Eleanor or Jessamine thinking along those lines. Even if he didn't have a thousandth of the appeal to them he did to me, it was disturbing. Jessamine's control was not the best. Even though I knew I was being overly paranoid, maybe even slightly psychotic, I was suddenly even more uneasy at the idea of leaving for the weekend.

Archie loped up to the car to the driver's side door, and held out his hand. For the truck key, of course.

"I only saw that I was," he said. "You'll have to give us the whole story later."

"This doesn't mean—" I began, suddenly worried, but he cut me off.

"I know, don't blow a gasket. But it'll be soon, trust me."

I grumbled and handed over the key.

I followed him on to Beau's house. The old truck wasn't particularly fast, and I could hear Archie mentally grumbling complaints the whole way.

When we arrived, I looked to Beau's bedroom window to see if he would come to see us—but the rain was pounding down like a million tiny hammers, so perhaps he didn't hear the roar of the truck engine. Of course, he might not have even been in the house at all—I wouldn't have been able to tell. There were no thoughts to hear.

Archie got in the back and we made for home. As there were no cars around, I didn't bother with speed limits, and the drive took barely a few minutes. As we all headed inside the house, we split up to go about our usual activities.

Eleanor and Jessamine went to resume their complicated game of chess, which involved eight joined boards and their own elaborate rules. I'd played with them both a couple of times before they banned me permanently—in strategy games, it turned out mind-reading was just a bit of an unfair advantage, and so only Archie would play games with me anymore.

Archie, meanwhile, headed straight to his computer around the corner from them, and I heard the monitors sing to life. He always had quite a few projects going at once, which reflected his broad span of interests. He had a penchant for art and particularly clothing design, though today he decided to put in some work on the software for a new action video game he was designing, Jessamine naturally being the inspiration for the main fighter. Though after a minute, he couldn't resist popping his head around the corner, and mouthing Eleanor's moves for Jessamine's benefit.

Royal was still in a bad mood, and didn't seem to know what he wanted to do. He paced beside the sofa in front of the television, and I heard him mentally debating whether to go out and tune his BMW again.

I already knew what I was going to do.

I slowly approached the grand piano, stationed off the entryway. I ran my fingers lightly over the smooth wood, then lowered myself onto the bench, pulling back the cover over the keys.

It had been so long since I'd touched the piano. For a while it had been one of my favorite pastimes, but I had fallen out of the habit. Carefully, I touched the keys, then ran my fingers up the scales, testing the pitch. The tuning was still as perfect as the day Earnest had bought it for me.

Earnest, who had been upstairs going over some blueprints, paused, cocking his head.

I began to play out the notes I had started to work out in my mind in the car today, and I was surprised when the sound came out better than I'd expected.

I sensed when Earnest got up from his desk, and silently came to stand at the head of the stairs, listening to me play.

I added a harmonizing line to the initial tune, letting the central melody weave through it.

 _She's playing again,_ thought Earnest. _And a new song. How long has it been?_

New notes were coming to me more smoothly now. I let the melody lead in a new direction, following it with the bass line.

I sensed when Royal stopped pacing and turned to glare at me as he realized I wasn't just playing, but composing a new piece entirely. He felt the intended emotions of the lilting music. Fervor, excitement, tempered with an undeniable gentleness. Warmth—love.

In that moment, he slipped, and I read all his underlying irritation—the real reason all this had been so getting under his skin.

The music came to an abrupt halt, and a short laugh escaped me before I could stop it. I had to cover my mouth with my hand, though my shoulders continued to twitch with suppressed amusement.

Royal glared at me, so furious he probably would have made a human wilt on the spot. Royal was never more dangerous than when he was feeling humiliated.

Eleanor and Jessamine paused and looked around, while Earnest descended the stairs, frowning, looking concerned. There was a long, strained moment.

"Don't stop, Edythe," Earnest encouraged me at last.

I did as he asked and started playing again, turning my back on Royal and trying to hold back the laughter that was trying to force its way up my throat.

Royal glared ferociously at the back of my head, his mind full of silent threats, then turned and stalked wordlessly from the room.

I couldn't stop myself smiling again. There was probably no one more consumed with himself than my brother Royal. He was vain as a peacock, and I knew from the moment we first met that my complete and utter lack of interest in his perfection had aggravated him to no end. But, seeing I was interested in no one, he had eventually gotten over it.

Now, though. My inexplicable attraction to an ordinary human—his ego was more than a little bruised. So that was the real reason he seemed to harbor such a strange, intense dislike toward Beau.

"What's wrong, Roy?" Eleanor called after him, mystified. Royal ignored her, still seething and burning from humiliation, as he headed straight to the garage and slid himself under his car as if he could bury himself in the work and push little irritating me from his mind.

"What was that about?" Eleanor asked, frowning as she turned back to me.

I shrugged. "Who knows?"

Eleanor grumbled, and she knew I was lying.

"Keep playing, Edythe," Earnest urged softly. My hands had paused again.

I started up again, adding another line with a slightly more cheerful timber, still smiling to myself.

However, as my fingers continued to move experimentally over the keys, trying to find a bridge to make the song feel more complete, my amusement faded.

It had been a strange day—I had probably had more interaction with Beau today than all other times combined. And the way he had looked at me in the car...

Hadn't I been wondering if he was physically attracted to me? To the unnatural beauty given to me by this immortal life? A part of me had been thrilled at the thought—that he was attracted to me in a way he was not attracted to McKayla, or Erica, or any of the other girls that were my rivals.

But if that was what I was going to rely on, if that was my one advantage over the rest, how was I any different from Royal? How was I any less vain—thinking I could use my appearance to have whatever I wanted?

Royal's life was living proof that sometimes beauty and good looks were the worst curse of all—it drew in shallow people concerned with nothing but outward appearance like flies.

My attempt at writing the bridge wandered, and the tone of the notes of my experiment turned more subdued.

I didn't believe Beau was shallow, far from it. But he was still a teenage boy subject to his hormones, and any attraction he felt toward me was simply that—hormones. It was nothing deep, nothing particularly binding. It wasn't love.

My hands flashing across the keys picked up again, still with a somber undertone, but with a bright spot, a touch of hope. Would it be possible for him to get to know _me—_ to see the me beyond the way I looked?

But what was there for him to learn about me? I was a vampire. I drank blood. How could he ever relate to that?

 _The music_ , I reminded myself. We both liked Debussy. That could be a start.

My fingers started moving faster over the keys, the attempted harmony going faster and faster, until it was a wandering, dizzying maze of restlessness and excitement.

I suddenly wanted to talk to him again. I wanted another long conversation, just like today. I wanted to ask him more questions, but what was more, I longed to answer more of _his_ questions. I wanted him to know the real me, not my human facade. Even the things I was most terrified at the thought of him knowing, a part of me suddenly wanted him to know—to know all the ugliness behind the pretty face, to know all the sacrifices he would have to make, the limitations of choosing me, and still accept me in spite of it all. Choose me, even being what I was, over any of the others.

It was an impossible thing to long for—unrealistic, unfair to even entertain. But, strangely, there was some release in the thought, of his knowing the truth about me. Knowing everything about me, all my darkest secrets. Better to be rejected as the monster I was than accepted based on a lie, on a false superhero fantasy.

I felt tremendous strength at this thought, at the thought of telling the truth—I knew it would free me, one way or another, and in spite of the crippling wave of despair that crashed over me at the thought of his rejection, his horror and revulsion, I felt a sudden, fierce surge of hope, too.

The fast, agitated notes clearly didn't fit the gentle melody of the song, and my hands slowed, trying something quieter, softer, yet still bold in their essence.

"Very lovely," Earnest murmured. "Have you chosen a name?"

"Not yet," I answered, my concentration still on the bridge.

"Is there a story to it?" he asked, a smile in his voice.

I paused as the bridge suddenly came together all at once. It led me onto the next movement with ease. "I think..." I said slowly, as I worked to understand the subconscious workings of my inspiration. "I think it's a lullaby."

Earnest's face flickered with surprise, then settled again into a warm smile. "I see," he said quietly. "That's wonderful, Edythe."

I didn't have to say anything else. He knew the story of this song, who it was about, who it was for—after all, there was no such thing as a lullaby for a vampire.

My hands flew across the keys now, adding another line to the harmony as I worked to pull all the pieces together. I made a few modifications here and there, turning it in a new direction.

I hadn't noticed Archie had come to stand behind me until his perfectly pitched, tenor voice joined in, wordless, rising high above the melody.

The notes of the song rose higher as they raced toward the climax, and Archie's voice rose to match it. Higher and higher we rose—and suddenly I saw how the song would end. Softly, sadly. I saw in my mind's eye how Beau looked when he was sleeping, his chest slowly rising and falling, his face peaceful. That was going to end, one way or another—either in death, or with a new life where he would never sleep again. And when it did end, it could be called nothing but a tragedy.

The song slowed, lower now, subdued, until it faded to nothing, and I hit the final note, which was barely a whisper.

I folded my hands together and bent my head over the keys.

Earnest put a hand on my shoulder, gripping it tightly. _It will all work out the way it's supposed to, Edythe. You_ will _find happiness. No one deserves it more than you._

I stared down at the keys. I couldn't answer. Shame and guilt and despair all swirled inside me. I loved Earnest—loved him for loving me like his own daughter, loving me through anything I might do, any mistake I might make. But he was wrong. How could I deserve happiness, when I was willing to risk someone else's happiness to gain it?

I felt someone poke me in the back.

"Hey," Archie said. "Let's do requests. I pick 'Chopsticks.'"

I couldn't help but laugh, and I was tugged from my dark mood—at least for the moment. My moods seemed to turn on a dime these days, swinging wildly from one extreme to the other, absolute despair to feverish ecstasy and back. It was hard to stay rational under the onslaught of such powerful, extreme emotions. Was this how human teenagers always felt?

As he'd asked, I put two fingers to the keys, and started in on Chopsticks.

My fingers were a blur over the keys as I played the song at an inhuman speed, while Archie sung in a wordless deep base in accompaniment. However, he suddenly cut off in a slight gasp.

"Oh, hey," he said, turning in the direction of Eleanor and Jessamine, still playing their game of chess. "Guess what, Jess."

I'd seen what he had just seen, and my hands froze on the keys.

Jessamine looked over at him. "What?" she asked slowly, curiously.

Archie grinned back. "Patricia and Charles are stopping by for a visit next week. That'll be something, won't it?"

Jessamine paused, then smiled a little.

However, Earnest felt the sudden rigid tension in my shoulder, and he looked down at me in concern. "Something wrong, Edythe?" he asked.

I stared straight ahead, at the empty wood where sheet music normally went. "They're...coming to Forks?" I said in a low voice.

Archie rolled his eyes. "Get a grip, Edy. It's not like this is their first visit."

I glared at the wood in front of me. No, it wasn't. But it _would_ be their first visit since Beau had come. And today proved his blood didn't appeal to just me...

Archie had leaned over to watch my expression, his arms folded. He may not have been able to read minds, but he could see exactly what I was thinking.

"You know they never hunt here," he pointed out.

Patricia and Charles were a gentle pair, as far as our kind went. They only wanted to live in peace, away from the vicious land wars of the south. Patricia was like a sister to Jessamine, and she and Charles were grateful to Jessamine for allowing them to escape their old life. However, they were not like us—they were vampires who hunted in the usual way.

My fingers slowly curled into fists on the keys. So long as they were here, Beau was not safe.

"When?" I asked in a rasp.

Archie frowned, staring at me not unlike Eleanor often stared at me these days, like I'd completely lost my mind. _Monday morning,_ he answered. _Not like it matters. You're freaking out over nothing._

I didn't answer. Instead I called, "Eleanor?"

"Yeah?" she said, looking around at me curiously.

"You ready to go?"

She raised her eyebrows. "I thought we were leaving tomorrow morning. Didn't you just eat last night?" She eyed my deep gold eyes.

"Change of plans," I said. "We're coming back by midnight Sunday. So we should probably leave a bit early."

Eleanor shrugged. "Fine by me. I'll tell Roy."

I nodded. With the mood Royal was in, it would probably be a fairly brief farewell.

However, Eleanor was just past the door when she paused and stuck her head back in.

"Hey," she said. "Since we'll be getting back before Patricia and Charles get here, you should come too, Jess. The more, the merrier. Your eyes are getting a bit dark, and you don't want to be distracted while they're visiting."

Jessamine hesitated, reluctant. "Archie and I went hunting not that long ago," she said slowly. She was thinking of Patricia and Charles—while they didn't have anything against our chosen lifestyle, they did find it odd, and she knew they found the sight of bright gold eyes a little unsettling.

"Come on," Eleanor begged. "You know Edythe is going to try to bolt halfway through, I need someone who can help hold her."

Jessamine gave a reluctant half-smile. Her eyes shifted to me, calculating. I knew Jessamine always looked for any opportunity to spar with me. Although she would never admit it aloud, it rankled her she was never able to get the best of me in our mock-fights. She didn't mind being equally matched with someone of a similar age and experience level, but for a relative rookie like me, it didn't seem right to her.

"You better not come, Jess," I said, feigning worry. "There are only so many mountain lions and bears to go around."

"See there," Eleanor said. "She _is_ going to try to ditch out. So she can get back and stalk that kid some more."

My reverse psychology had the desired effect, and Jessamine shook her head, still smiling. "Let me just change then," she said, and she disappeared upstairs.

Eleanor, grinning with triumph, slipped back through the door, off to tell Royal what we were doing.

As Eleanor went, Earnest turned back to me and said, "Play the new song one more time, would you, Edythe?"

"Sure," I answered, putting my fingers on the keys—though truthfully I was hesitant to play it again, and follow the course of the music all the way to its unavoidable conclusion. Soft beauty and magic that came to an end in tragedy.

I paused for a moment, then found myself reaching into my pocket, and I withdrew the small bottle cap. My memento of one of our first real conversations, where I learned more about him, and first steps were taken for him to learn about me...

I pressed the cap briefly to my lips, then set it on the empty music stand.

My eyes on the tiny cap, I began to play.

Archie and Earnest exchanged a glance behind my back, but neither one asked.

* * *

"Someone should really tell her not to play with her food," I murmured to myself.

I sat on a stone slab on a precipice overlooking a patch of forest, while Jessamine was reclining against a rock not too far away. There was a small clearing just below the cliff, and Eleanor was there—trying to enrage the giant bear she was currently hunting as much as possible.

Eleanor didn't like to take down her prey too quickly. She liked to see it fight back first.

I sighed and leaned back, bored. This could take awhile. I glanced over at Jessamine.

"Did you get all you wanted?" I asked her.

"I found a black bear earlier," she said. "It was small. I may try to find one more later, but this is entertaining." Her eyes were on Eleanor, still toying with the grizzly.

I shook my head. "And here, I thought you were my better-mannered sister. Southern politeness and all that."

Jessamine smiled. "You've always been the well-mannered one, Edythe, you know that. You take after Carine that way."

"Guess so," I muttered, eyes still on Eleanor below. I watched her for a second longer and, my gaze still focused on her, I said suddenly, "Jessamine...can I ask you something?"

Jessamine noticed the shift in my tone, and I felt her golden eyes flicker to me. "Yes?" she said, a little cautiously.

"This thing I have," I began. "This...particular attraction to his blood. Have you ever experienced anything like that?" I added, "We know Eleanor has. She thinks it's happened twice, though neither was as strong as this has been for me."

Jessamine considered the question. "No," she said at last. "I can't recall any human's blood having a particular draw for me. Human blood is human blood."

I nodded slowly. "Carine's never experienced it either. I wonder what causes it. It must be fairly rare." My eyes remained on the clearing below, even as Eleanor's battle shifted, moving just beyond a particularly thick collection of trees and shrubs, out of sight.

What were the chances, that the one human whose blood held a strange allure for me would come to Forks, that we would be in the same class together? How could his luck be so bad?

I listened to the sounds of the bear's furious roars below—those roars probably would have sent chills down the spine of a human, but Eleanor was laughing. I heard what sounded like claws scraping across stone, and a few moments later the roars cut off with a gurgle.

Jessamine seemed uncomfortable with the question I had asked—not sure if she had answered in the way I had hoped. After a minute of internal debate, she climbed to her feet.

"I think I'll go look for that other bear now," she said. Before I could decide how best to reassure her, she was already gone.

Not more than a minute had passed when Eleanor, scaling up the rock wall with ease, threw herself down beside me.

"Well, that was fun," she said, pushing her tangled hair back from her face. "Beast got my shirt though." She showed me the damage to her shoulder. There were parallel rips in the fabric—of course the hard skin beneath was untouched.

She sighed. "And this was one of my favorite shirts, too. Roy got it for me."

"Tragic," I said, rolling my eyes. "I'd be more sympathetic, if I didn't think you could have completely avoided that if you'd wanted to."

Eleanor laughed, leaning back on her arms. "You have to have a bit of fun sometimes. Live a little." She glanced at my perfectly clean white shirt and unruffled hair. "Look at you. Did you ever find that mountain lion you were after?"

"Yes," I said. "I was just a bit more careful about it."

"Where'd Jessamine get off to?" she asked, looking around. "Normally she's done before I am."

"She found one small bear," I said, "but she was so intrigued by your unique hunting method she stopped to watch you."

Eleanor laughed. "I'm probably more interesting than watching you hunt anyway."

I shrugged. "I go for efficiency over entertainment value."

Eleanor glanced at me. A sly grin flickered across her face, and I saw her intent in time to ready myself. Fast as lighting, she moved to give me a hard shove, but I neatly dodged.

Eleanor blew out a sigh, exasperated. "Come on, Edythe, just turn it off for a little while. Let's have a fair fight for once." Grinning again, she shifted into a crouch, coiling her muscles as though to spring.

I rolled my eyes. "You know it doesn't turn off, El. Believe me, if there was a way, I would have found it by now." Eleanor and Royal's antics in the beginning of their romance—and at least a decade after—had given me more than incentive enough.

Eleanor sighed and slumped back against the rock, resting her head on her arms. She was suddenly thoughtful. "You know, I wonder exactly what that kid does to keep you out. Maybe it's something he could teach me."

All my relaxed good humor was gone in an instant.

"Stay away from him!" I snarled, turning on her so fast if I had wanted to strike, she couldn't have stopped me.

"Touchy, touchy," she said complacently, hand half raised to calm me down. "Relax, I was joking."

I was silent.

"I'm not trying to be insensitive or anything," Eleanor said. "I know none of this can be easy for you." She added with a half grin, "But after years of nonstop teasing and trying to push all your buttons, some old habits die hard."

She waited for me to laugh. When I didn't, she made a face.

 _So serious._

I sighed, my eyes dropping to the clearing below. "Sorry. I'm just thinking about...things." I hesitated, then added, "Him. Worrying, I guess."

Eleanor laughed. "What's there to worry about? _You_ are _here_."

I folded my arms and didn't answer.

She rolled her eyes. "You know, you're going to be spending a lot of time waiting for apologies if you get offended by everything I say. I just say whatever I think. That's just how I am, and it's not changing anytime soon."

In spite of my mood, I couldn't stop the reluctant smile that touched the corner of my lips. "No one knows that better than I do."

I shook my head and sighed. "I guess I can't stop thinking about how fragile humans are. They could get hit by a car...struck by lightning...fall down the stairs...get sick—get a _disease_. Fires, earthquakes, tornadoes." My voice was getting progressively higher as I rattled off every potential for disaster, getting more agitated by the moment. I suddenly thought of Eleanor and the bear down in the clearing.

"Bears," I added in a horrified whisper, suddenly paling at the thought of a stray bear in town. Knowing his luck, it would probably make a beeline straight for him.

Eleanor eyed me warily. "You know you're starting to sound kind of crazed, right? Like, psychotically paranoid. I mean, _lightning_? Seriously? What are the chances of that?"

I gritted my teeth, and the thought that had occurred to me talking to Jessamine came back. "What are the chances he would end up in a town of vampires?" I countered. "In a class with a vampire who about goes into a frenzy at the smell of his blood?"

Eleanor shrugged. "Yeah, but we're vegetarians, plus you have more self-control than just about any of us besides Carine. If that had been me sitting in that class, he would have been a goner. So if you look at it in a certain way, the way things happened have been kind of good luck for him."

"And the van?" I challenged. "Was _that_ good luck? I swear, the world is out to get him—that's the only explanation."

"Well," Eleanor said. "It was good luck you were there to save him. Right?"

Maybe I should have stopped, but I was falling into stride now, building up to a rant. "And the worst luck of all," I said vehemently, ignoring her. "Having a _vampire_ fall in _love_ with him."

Eleanor gazed at me for a long moment, her expression thoughtful. For just an instant, an image flashed through her mind. She was picturing Beau as she had seen him—a normal human boy. Then it shifted. His skin white as bone, his eyes a bright, glowing crimson...

"No," I said through gritted teeth. I gripped my hands to the sides of my head. " _No._ "

"I really don't see why you're making this into such a dilemma," she said reaonably. "It would solve everything. You wouldn't have to worry about him getting struck by lightning. And half of you wouldn't be wanting to kill him anymore."

"Destroy his life?" I whispered. "Take away everything he's ever known?"

Eleanor shrugged. "I didn't mind so much, did I?"

I let my hands fall, and raised my eyes to meet hers. As a human, Eleanor had nearly been killed by a raging bear in the woods. Royal had come along just in time, killing the bear and carrying her back to Carine to be changed, in the hopes of saving her. Eleanor had never looked back.

"You were going to die anyway," I said quietly. "It's not the same thing. Taking it away from him when there's another choice... You should know as well as anyone not everyone finds this life to their liking."

Eleanor paused. She knew what I meant, and her thoughts shifted to Royal. How he had not been so happy at gaining this immortal life, though his human life had also been at an end. Unlike Eleanor, he missed his humanity—intensely.

Eleanor shook her head, as thinking of Royal made her think of something else. She was trying to come up with a tactful way to put it, but I already knew the question, so I answered it before she spoke.

"No, El, I can't touch him—not the way you mean."

 _Not so long as he's human,_ she finished. _And...fragile._

She paused for a moment, staring at me with something like pity. Eleanor and Royal shared an intensely physical kind of love, so much so that Eleanor had trouble separating one kind of love from the other.

 _If you can't touch him, and he can't touch you...how can you be happy?_ she wondered. _How can you make_ him _happy? No matter how strong your love is, won't it always feel incomplete?_

I gazed out over the forest, at the mist curling over the trees. "For myself..." I said slowly. "In the end, it doesn't matter. I would give up anything for him, for his wellbeing. I would make any sacrifice. For him..." My voice dropped to a whisper. "You're right. It isn't fair."

I took a slow, steadying breath. "That's why I need to leave, before it's too late. I know that. But...I just can't bring myself to do it."

Eleanor sighed deeply. "Trying to be noble and selfless kind of sucks, doesn't it?"

I laughed a little at that. "It certainly does."

As I continued to stare out into the forest my mind wandered for a moment, and I remembered again that Patricia and Charles were coming—not that it had ever been far from my mind.

I felt a strange sense of gratification well up inside me as it occurred to me—maybe it was right for me to leave in the long run, but for now it was surely better for me to remain. He needed someone nearby, to make sure he stayed safe. Someone strong enough to deal with supernatural threats, someone patient enough, devoted enough to stay close by all the time, who never had to sleep...

I was suddenly anxious to be back in Forks, to start right away fulfilling my new role.

Eleanor noticed the look that came into my face. "What?" she said, suspicious.

"I kind of want to go back now," I admitted.

"Oh, I _knew_ it!" she complained. "I knew this would happen. Well, not happening, sister." She seized me by the arm, and I didn't stop her as she pulled me into a headlock. "You are _not_ skipping out and going back early. At least give Roy a chance to cool his head or he'll be sulking all next week."

"I guess...I'll try to stay," I said doubtfully, my voice muffled against her forearm.

"Archie will call if anything's up," she added, gesturing to the phone in my pocket. "He's probably keeping an eye on him, what with all that best friend nonsense." She suddenly grinned. "By the way, are you going to tell me what Roy was thinking that got him all worked up?"

I smiled to myself. "I really don't have the faintest idea."

She shook her head. "You are such a liar. But you're right—if you told me, he'd probably be sulking for a decade. Not to mention you'd have to watch your back, because he might just try to rip your head off."

She let go and leaned back on the rock again, closing her eyes. "You might as well relax, you know. Archie said it's going to be sunny this week, so we aren't even going back to school until Wednesday."

I shook my head rigidly. "Sunday night," I said again.

"Patricia and Charles are good guys," Eleanor said. "The last thing they'll want is to start a fight. They aren't going to touch anyone in Forks, let alone some favorite of yours."

I folded my arms. "Not intentionally. But self-control isn't one of Patricia's strong points. If he wandered off into the woods at the wrong moment..." A shudder rippled down my spine at the thought.

Eleanor nodded. "Or maybe he'll accidentally choke on his toothbrush when he's brushing his teeth in the morning. Or he'll trip over his own shoelaces and hit his head on a doorknob. Yeah, you're right—anything could happen."

I turned to give her a dark look.

She raised her eyebrows. "I'm just trying to point out how ridiculous your obsessive paranoia is."

"Well, you're only reinforcing it."

Eleanor chuckled to herself, shaking her head incredulously. _I hate to say it, but I'm really starting to think it might be better if you were institutionalized. Seriously, Edythe. You're starting to scare me._

I stared off into the woods again. I concentrated on trying to relax, but I couldn't. All the possible disasters kept repeating themselves in my mind like a chant. Lightning, fire, earthquake, tornado...

It was going to be a long weekend.

* * *

Early Monday morning, I flitted through the woods, on the path that was already becoming far too familiar, to his house.

This time, the voice in my head railing against what I was doing—turning myself into a literal stalker of the worst kind, secretly intruding on his privacy and violating his personal space—was not quite so loud. Apparently, my conscience was becoming desensitized to such things. The Hyde in me would have been proud.

I'd come prepared, and I oiled the window, so this time it slid smoothly and silently out of my way. I dropped to the floor with perfect silence.

And there he was. A powerful, almost crippling relief rushed through me, more than I expected, seeing him there. Seeing him breathing in and out, in perfect health, perfectly safe and not in the least danger.

Except from me, of course.

I sighed, then inhaled deeply. The fire raked through my throat, making my head spin. I had to lean against the arm of the rocking chair, half staggering. Clearly the break from the pain and burning temptation, short as it was, had weakened me. However, I was in control of myself—my mind was my own, and not consumed with monstrous fantasies.

I didn't have much time before the sun would rise and my time would be up, but I sat myself down in the rocking chair, crossing my legs and folding my arms as I settled in to watch him.

He looked...peaceful. His hair lay a little flatter than it had that first night, and I hoped that meant he had slept less restlessly.

However, as I studied his face more closely, I thought I saw traces of exhaustion, too. Like he hadn't gotten enough sleep that weekend. I knew Saturday had been the trip to the beach with McKayla—had he stayed out later after that? Had he spent more time with McKayla? Gone to dinner, gone out driving...

Human feelings could change so quickly. In a heartbeat. Was it possible over this single weekend I'd been away, something significant might have happened? Something that changed everything?

I stared at him, studying his every feature, as if I could somehow read major life events there. He did look tired, his face slightly drawn, but now I was even more certain I had been right at first. His sleep seemed deep and calm, at peace. As my eyes studied him, one of his hands twitched, drawing my attention. I noticed shallow, barely healed scrapes across his palm. No doubt a result of his tripping over something, as usual.

I frowned slightly. I had seen few humans so given to falling down or catching their foot on things. Eleanor had made light of my worries over the fragility of humans, but many humans had died over something as simple as falling down a flight of stairs, or stepping on a rusted nail.

I quickly shook my head—I had already spent all weekend dwelling on the endless potential dangers to which humans were subject, and before long my thoughts returned to the beach trip.

I wished more than ever that I might have gone. It would have been nice to meet him in a completely new setting outside school, to see if it would bring out yet another side of him I hadn't yet seen as we continued our conversation. Unfortunately, even if it hadn't been sunny that day, First Beach was off limits to us. There were old folk among the Quileute tribe who lived there who remembered the treaty we had made with those from a generation passed—those who remembered exactly what we really were.

I felt a chill down my spine. Beau would have been right by people who knew the truth about what I was, perhaps even talked to them—even if there was some part of me that might be on the verge of wanting him to finally know the truth, the thought of him learning it from our mortal enemies set an unpleasant sensation to buzzing at the base of my neck.

I shook my head, shaking the feeling off. The Quileute tribal leaders were bound by the treaty to keep their silence—my secret was safe. At least for now.

All too soon, the sun breached the horizon, and I turned to look at the approaching light with distaste—I didn't think I'd ever been so disappointed at not being able to go to school. Today, the light was my enemy.

Reluctantly, I slipped out the window before it was yet light enough for anyone to see me. I ran swiftly across the open yard, then stopped just beyond the edge of the thick forest, where I would not be seen, but I could still watch him as he left for school.

However, as I sucked in a breath, I was startled to taste his scent on the still, cool morning air.

I turned toward a small path, leading into the forest. The scent was fresh—no more than a day old, if that.

Wondering what he could have possibly been doing out here when I got the distinct sense he wasn't someone all that into the outdoors, cautiously I followed it, growing more anxious by the moment as the trail led deeper into the darkness.

I was someways in when the trail came to an abrupt halt. He had taken a few steps off the trail, into the ferns, and touched the trunk of a fallen tree. Perhaps sat there. The scent was faint, a little washed out, as though it had been raining at the time.

I looked around, trying to see if there was something of interest to have drawn him here, but I saw nothing but trees.

Why had he come to this place? This was not a path he tread often or out of habit, his scent was too faint and recent for that. Had he come out here to think? To be alone?

This was just the kind of erratic behavior I had been afraid of—the pure obliviousness to danger. I had been right to rush back to Forks before Patricia and Charles could arrive. I couldn't leave him alone for a moment. Perhaps he would never know it, but I would make sure he was safe.

As I stared at the place where he had been, trying once again to guess at his thoughts, I suddenly smiled, an ironic smile without much humor, and more than a little self-condemnation.

It killed me, realizing I would probably never know what he had been doing here, as the question wasn't one I could bring up in casual conversation—not without admitting to him I was stalking him to his house and following his scent like a bloodhound. And the fact that it did kill me was totally wrong. That I knew he'd been out here was already an invasion of his privacy—but I wasn't satisfied with that, I wanted to stalk him some more, and excavate more of his secrets. I was the lowest of the low.

I folded my arms. Still, he _was_ in danger so long as Patricia and Charles were in town. He would need silent, invisible protection, just in case. So, following him around everywhere he went wouldn't be the actions of an obsessive stalker so much as those of a...

Protector? Bodyguard?

I smiled briefly at the thought. I liked that. A legitimate reason to be wherever he was.

I suddenly found myself hoping Patricia and Charles might extend their stay.

* * *

A/N: Thank goodness for normal-sized chapters once in awhile. The writing in this one was still surprisingly rough when I went over it again (I guess I'd been so worried about chapter 6 in the editing that I'd spent most of my focus on that during previous edit rounds), but hopefully I was able to smooth most of that out. In any case, I didn't want to spend too much time stuck here, in events slightly less important than some of the others coming up.

On another note, I found it a bit odd that Jasper didn't go with Edward and Emmett in the original Midnight Sun. Because Edward talks about having asked both Emmett and Jasper if they had ever felt a similar lure for a human's blood that Edward did for Bella's in his explanation to Bella later on, I figured this was probably the best opportunity to work the Jasper conversation in.

Thanks so much for reading, and for all your comments! If you have a moment, let me know what you thought, and hope to see you next time! C:

Posted 9/17/18


	9. Ghost

A/N: I almost delayed this chapter by another week, mainly because it turned out to be another one that needed more editing than I expected. But, being in a kind general editing mode lately helped me get it done a little sooner.

However, with the way things are going with the editing on Breaking Dawn, I do think I am probably going to need some more time on it before posting, so I may go more to a four-week schedule over a three-week schedule as a general rule, we'll see. (Not to mention some of these Midnight chapters coming up are ridiculously long, lol.)

Thank you all so much for your continued support and patience, and for sticking with me all this time! Hope you enjoy, and I'll see you at the end! C:

* * *

Chapter 8: Ghost

I didn't see much of either Patricia or Charles during the sunny two days they were in Forks. I was far too preoccupied mentally following the object of my now undeniable obsession.

Archie, of course, thought my antics were hilarious, and was probably the only one at least partially aware of the level my mania had reached.

Monday morning, after I made my discovery on the forest trail, I decided to head back home briefly. I didn't want to be so rude as to not be seen at all while Jessamine's two guests were staying, and I also knew how Earnest would worry if I never went home.

After the briefest of conversations with our two visitors—they were gracious and courteous as always, making me feel just a little guilty for looking at them more as potential threats than friends—I excused myself, intent on making my way to Forks High School. While I couldn't actually go to school with the sun out, I could certainly wait out the day in the shadow of the woods, where I could follow him in the minds of the other students. I would make certain that no one with malintent got near him.

As I made to launch myself off the porch and into the woods, a cheerful voice called after me. "Have fun. Stalking him, I mean."

I paused and glanced back to find Archie standing in the open doorway, leaning casually against the doorframe. He was grinning ear to ear.

While I knew I would probably be better off ignoring him, I couldn't help answering, "I'm guarding him. Not stalking. There's a difference."

He shrugged. "We can debate semantics if you want. Or you can just admit to yourself that as many euphemisms as you try to put on it, the reality is still the same. Accept it. Embrace it. You'll be happier that way."

Maybe it was because he was right, but I couldn't help giving him a dirty look. A bit of a challenge in my voice, I said, "Are you going to be watching me all day?"

Archie snorted. "I think I'll have better things to do than sit around watching you stand in a forest, pulling up trees every time a girl makes a pass at him. But, if it makes you feel better, I promise to check in on you every once in a while."

I stared at him for a second, then shook my head, incredulous. My brother could be the most irritating person in the world when he put his mind to it.

As if reading my mind, he flashed me a dazzling smile. "Have fun," he repeated. "Don't be too hard on nature."

Sighing to myself, and trying hard not to see whatever immediate future Archie was seeing, I turned and sprinted off into the woods.

As I ran, all minor irritations faded to the back of my mind, and even the flimsy excuses I made to myself about the danger posed by Charles and Patricia. Exhilaration flooded my system at the thought of seeing him again, every bit as potent as a few days before, when I was only just discovering these new feelings. I ran so fast that to any human observer, I would have appeared as no more than an insubstantial streak of color, a haunting specter.

It felt like only a moment before I reached the familiar woods near the school. There I found a place to stand in the deep shadows of the trees, far enough back there would be no hope to spot me among the thick foliage, but where the pavement of the school grounds was clearly visible to my eyes.

I glanced down at my watch, and was surprised and dismayed to see how early it still was. Perhaps I ought to have returned to his house first, the fifteen minutes or so until his normal arrival time felt like an agonizing eternity.

I was still frowning at my watch when the familiar roar of an ancient, outmoded engine jarred me from my thoughts. I glanced up in disbelief just in time to see his banged up old truck pulling into the lot. I could scarcely believe my luck—he was never this early.

As he climbed from his truck and shut the door behind him, I instantly noticed something different about his demeanor. As he made his way across the parking lot, he walked with a slight spring in his step, and as he stopped beside the seldom-used picnic benches, he raised his face to the sun, smiling.

It was the sunlight, I realized—he didn't like the cold or the wet, so having the sun out must remind him of being home in Phoenix, with his mother.

As I watched the beams of sunlight play on his pale skin, suddenly being confined to the shadows felt more like a torment than ever before. What an insufferable dilemma—the sun put him in such a good mood. But I could never go near him in the weather he liked best.

Unslinging his bag from his shoulder, he spread the jacket he had been carrying over the still-damp bench. As he sat down, and I stared at the back of his plain T-shirt, I realized it was only rarely I'd seen him without a jacket. He hardly ever went anywhere without one, even in class. The one exception was when I'd seen him in his bed asleep, but as he hadn't been conscious at the time, it didn't seem like that counted.

In the absence of all his usual layers, he looked more...open. Less guarded. Even as he drew out his math textbook and laid it out on the table, he appeared almost cheerful.

If only I could have gone to sit beside him. To strike up a conversation while he was in this mood. But, I was imprisoned in the shadows.

Time passed, and before long the empty lot was full of students milling about. Apparently Beau wasn't the only one enjoying the weather; many faces were bright at the unusually balmy air, and more than a few were dressed in t-shirts and some even in shorts. Beau didn't seem to notice them as he doodled idly in his notebook.

 _Oh, it's Beau!_ gasped a familiar mental voice. _And he's alone—now's my chance!_

My gaze shifted to find McKayla Newton approaching. She was also taking advantage of the rare warm weather, dressed in a tank top and skirt. She was thrilled at the chance to wear something other than heavy jackets and jeans, and it factored in to her decision to take advantage of this rare opportunity.

"Beau!" she called as she neared.

He looked up immediately, scanning the crowd, and his eyes finally found McKayla.

He smiled. "Hey, McKayla."

I gripped the tendrils of a nearby spruce, suddenly rigid with tension. I remembered the offhanded remark Archie had made, and realized with dismay he hadn't been completely joking.

McKayla sat herself down beside him, in the place I would have sat, and she was beaming.

"Great day, isn't it?"

I could see his returning smile in her thoughts. His smile was almost as wide as hers.

My stomach turned to ice. It returned to me again that there were entire days of his life I had missed—and that it was more than possible something significant may have happened that I might not be aware of. The fear I hadn't wanted to put into words rose up in my mind like a black cloud.

Maybe he hadn't been interested in McKayla at all before, but I knew from watching human teenage minds that human feelings could change in an instant. Maybe something had changed over the course of the beach trip. McKayla wasn't thinking about the beach trip at the moment or of anything of note happening, but then, she wasn't privy to Beau's thoughts, either. What if the reason he slept so much more soundly last night was because he had realized he liked her after all, and he was anticipating seeing her today? From the open, warm look on his face now, it was easy to believe.

I really wasn't all that skilled at measuring the attractiveness of human girls—but there could be no doubt in looking at the thoughts of most of the male students that McKayla was considered quite a draw, especially at the moment. As she'd walked across the lot toward the picnic benches, she'd turned more than a few heads. With her long, straight blond hair and round, child-like face, she was considered very pretty, in a comfortingly human sort of way.

"My kind of day," he said, grinning back at her.

My fingers gripping the spruce tightened, and with an inadvertent twitch of my hand, I felt the roots tear up against the dirt.

McKayla's heart fluttered at the look, followed by a burst of jubilant confidence.

 _I've been totally over thinking this,_ she thought. _He_ does _like me, I knew it. I bet he did want to go to the dance with me, it's just he had that thing in Seattle. I mean, we're practically a couple already, it's just he's so shy—that's why we haven't made any progress. I've just got to take the initiative, and he'll follow my lead._

"What did you do yesterday?" she asked.

He shrugged. "I mostly worked on my essay."

 _He's always so responsible,_ she mentally gushed. "Oh yeah," she said, going along with the small talk, trying to figure out how to work up to what she wanted to ask. "That's due Thursday, right?"

"Um, Wednesday, I think," he answered.

"Wednesday?" McKayla's good mood flickered. _Maybe I could just let it slide this once. I mean, this is more important—no, I can't do that, Beau would think I was such an irresponsible slacker. And my parents would probably ground me._

"That's not good. I guess I'll have to get to work on that tonight."

 _No! No excuses! It's now or never!_

McKayla took a quick breath, then went on, "I was going to ask if you wanted to go out."

"Oh," he said, and his face was blank with surprise.

A brief silence followed.

 _He isn't saying anything,_ she thought in a panic. _Does that mean no? Or—maybe he doesn't know how to answer because of the dumb essay thing and I didn't actually ask?_

McKayla tried again. "Well," she said, "we could go to dinner or something...and I could work on it later."

I felt the tree roots of the spruce come up a few more inches, but I barely noticed. I was filled with a mad desire to thwart her—if it weren't for the sunlight, I would have gone over there right now, and interrupted the conversation before it could go any farther. I would have stayed with him as long as I had to, to keep her from ever catching him alone again.

Anything to keep him away from this human girl I knew deep down would be such a better match for him than I was.

"McKayla..." he began slowly, awkwardly. "I don't think that would be the best idea."

I realized my breathing had stopped, and now I breathed again. My hand gripping the tree relaxed, and it settled heavily back on its roots, though now badly leaning to one side.

All McKayla's buoyant confidence abruptly evaporated, and she was suddenly miserable.

 _I should have known. Seattle_ was _just an excuse. I bet Jeremy's right, and he's completely stuck on Edythe Cullen._

"Why?" she said slowly, guardedly.

He paused. He glanced once to the side, as though on the lookout for possible eavesdroppers, before turning back to look her in the eye. "Look," he said in a low voice, "I'm breaking all kinds of man codes telling you this, so don't rat me out, okay?"

Both McKayla and I were equally clueless where this could possibly be leading.

"Man code?" McKayla repeated, frowning.

He nodded. "Jeremy's my friend," he went on, "and if I went out with you, well, it would upset him."

McKayla didn't reply, just stared at him blankly.

"I never said any of this, okay?" he said vehemently. "It's your word against mine."

"Jeremy?" she repeated at last. Her mind had started up again, going at full force. _Jeremy? Is that what this is all about? Just like at the dance, when he told me I should ask Jeremy instead... Stepping aside, as a favor to Jeremy?_

"Seriously," Beau said, with a bit of a smile that was almost disapproving, "are you blind?"

"Oh," she said, the word coming out as a breath. _No, that's not it. Jeremy is just another excuse. He has been all along. I_ am _blind._

She was too much in shock to show the misery of all her crushed hopes on her face.

Beau got up, putting his book and notebook back in his bag. "I don't want to be late again. I'm already on Mason's list."

I followed McKayla's thoughts as the two of them started for class. McKayla was silent as they walked, and she didn't look at him.

McKayla was still reeling from the shock of her realization, and before long all her thoughts were spiraling down into a black hole. _He doesn't like me. He's never going to like me. Jeremy's probably right, he's been too busy fantasizing about Edythe Cullen. I should have seen it, I should have known..._

She snuck a peek at him walking beside her, and he was staring straight ahead.

She turned away again, though the gloom was quickly being replaced by anger.

 _Is this how the rest of your year is going to go? s_ he demanded of herself. _Are you just going to be single the rest of high school, going after some guy who's not even interested? This is pointless. I'm pretty, I'm fun. Even if_ he _doesn't appreciate it, I could find someone who would. Jeremy's nice... He pays attention to me...why not?_

McKayla was already working herself out of her dark mood, relieved and even cheerful as her resolve solidified.

 _Yeah,_ she thought. _He can pine after Edythe Cullen all he wants, see if I care. I'm going to enjoy high school._

I smiled to myself as the two headed off to classes, McKayla's mind already focused on making plans with Jeremy. That was one rival down. Of all the possible advantages I'd considered I might have over the others, I'd forgotten to factor in patience. As much as McKayla liked Beau, she wasn't so absorbed in him that she was willing to wait around an eternity. If he wasn't going to come around, she'd rather find someone else than be alone.

I, on the other hand, was indeed willing to wait an eternity. Longer, if necessary. I had all the time in the world.

As classes started, I went to curl up against the cool trunk of an enormous madrone tree, contentedly settling in to watch his day.

I jumped from one mind to the next, always keeping him in sight. In his Trigonometry class, Jeremy said they were planning a trip down to Port Angeles in the afternoon to catch a movie and order corsages for the dance. Beau seemed reluctant, saying something about homework, and he'd have to see.

Jeremy was suspicious—he'd seen Beau talking to McKayla out by the picnic benches before school—but didn't call him out on it.

Beau seemed in a good mood right up until lunch. When he walked through the doors with Jeremy, he looked around the cafeteria, before his face immediately fell. Jeremy was too busy going on about the trip that afternoon, so he didn't notice, and didn't turn to look, so I missed whatever Beau was looking at.

The frustration was almost unbearable—watching him through the eyes of others wasn't at all the same as watching him myself. Especially through the inattentive, self-absorbed eyes of Jeremy. He was too thrilled when McKayla invited him to come sit beside her that he didn't even notice how suddenly depressed Beau seemed, let alone speculate on the reason.

I switched over from Jeremy to Allen—Allen had just asked Beau a question about the essay due, and his attention was on Beau. Beau was obviously making an effort to act normal, but Allen picked up on the subtle cues.

 _He looks so down. I wonder if it's because the Cullens are out today. I thought I saw him looking toward their table..._

My frustration was instantly replaced with a sudden thrill. That possibility hadn't occurred to me—that he was depressed because he had been expecting to see me. It was true, I hadn't told him we would be out Monday.

I liked Allen's idea, and I decided to hold onto it for further contemplation later.

 _Wonder if there's something I could say to cheer him up,_ Allen thought, though he was doubtful.

" _Hey,"_ he said in a low, quiet voice. _"Jeremy was putting together a thing in Port Angeles this evening. I think it would be more fun if you were there. We're going to see a movie and get corsages—"_

He broke off as a new thought suddenly occurred to him. _Oh, he's not going to the dance, is he? Stupid, I wish I knew when to keep my big mouth shut..._

" _Oh yeah, Jeremy told me about that. Yeah, I think I will."_

I didn't know what to make of this sudden turnaround after his vague, noncommittal answer to Jeremy. Maybe it was just because Allen was the one asking.

I realized, not for the first time, that I liked being in Allen's mind. It was quiet. He was always mindful of other people's feelings, and never had a mean or nasty thought about anyone. I liked that Beau had a friend like him. I had the oddest impulse to do something for him—just for the simple fact of his having such a gentle mind and being such a good friend to Beau. However, I wasn't quite sure how to do it, as I wasn't sure what Allen might want. He didn't seem to want much of anything. I would have to think on it some more.

Now that Beau had definite plans to go out this evening, I made my own plans for surveillance. I'd have to be careful—driving into town when it was sunny out carried its own risk, but he'd be with the others, so I'd be able to keep an eye on him through them.

However, not long after Beau pulled out of the parking lot to head home, and I prepared to head over there, McKayla caught Jeremy on the way out. He was ecstatic when she asked him to the same dinner she had tried to get Beau to go to that morning. Jeremy knew he would have to call the others to cancel today's plans, but they'd work just as well for tomorrow. He didn't have a moment's hesitation, and he was exultant as he got into his car.

I sprinted so quickly through the back woods that I reached Beau's home before he did. I used the time to make a quick run through the trees, sweeping them for any possible dangers. To make sure Patricia and Charles hadn't happened to wander close. Of course, I knew Jessamine had warned them to steer far clear of this particular area—she and Archie together had made it clear in no uncertain terms the extremity of their sister's recent insanity—but the way I figured it, if I was going to call myself a bodyguard, I should at least take the job seriously.

The first hour after he arrived home was long. When he was inside the house, I could neither see nor hear him, and as he was alone, there were no eyes to watch him through. Rationally, I knew he was perfectly safe, but it still made me edgy.

I was startled and thrilled when the front door opened, and he emerged, a quilt under his arm and a book in hand, and came around to the backyard.

Silently, I climbed into the higher branches of the closest tree overlooking the yard. There I crouched in the shadows, obscured from view, but with a good vantage point. I watched as he tossed the quilt down, laying on top of it, then cracked open the paperback. Just like that morning at the picnic table, he seemed eager to enjoy the warmth and sunlight while it lasted.

The dilemma of before returned to my mind. He loved the warmth and the sunlight, and I wanted to see him happy, cheerful as he had been this morning. But the only way I would get to talk to him, be with him, was if the sky closed up again, if it grew overcast and gloomy, and hid the sun from sight.

It seemed like everything I ever wanted and hoped for was always in opposition to his wants, his needs. I despised the sunlight—it was like a cage, hemming me in, blocking me from getting to him. And most of all, I despised it for having the power to expose me for the inhuman monster I was.

Did I really love him? These twisted emotions raging inside me certainly didn't feel like love—aching for him so much it could make me so loathe something that brought him such happiness.

But it wasn't just the sunlight. I hated anything that had the potential to separate me from him. Whether it be McKayla or the scores of other girls vying for his attention or my own inhumanness, or my still quietly burning conscience, which bade me to leave. The stronger my love seemed to become, the more the hate seemed to grow in equal measure. The jealousy, the fear, the anger. I was full of monsters, all trying to get out. Was this how love was supposed to be? Or was I simply incapable of real, pure love, because of what I was?

I watched him from where I was.

He didn't seem in as good of a mood as he had been that morning. If anything, he appeared restless. He shifted around on the blanket several times, as if he couldn't quite seem to get comfortable. When he opened the book, he flipped through it aimlessly for a while, without stopping to actually read anything. Maybe he had lost his place.

Finally he shut the book and tossed it aside, then rolled onto his back, eyes closed. However, he didn't look peaceful or relaxed. His eyebrows were tense above his closed eyelids, forming a crease in his forehead, as if he were thinking on something very hard.

Once again the familiar ache, the longing to know what was going through his mind, filled my chest. However, I suddenly wondered if even that old impulse was yet another monster. A person's thoughts were supposed to be private, not for some stranger to go rummaging through at their leisure. What a violation it was—like a burglar stealing through the house at night, going through clothing and possessions, reading diary entries. A person was supposed to be safe in their mind, as they were supposed to be safe in their home. Now, the one person who had the privacy that, by rights, they all should have, I desperately longed to rob him of that, too.

I shook my head, trying to force the thoughts from my mind, at least for the present. Instead, I refocused my gaze on his face.

As I watched him, his creased brow eventually smoothed, and his breathing slowed. He hadn't been asleep long when his mouth moved, muttering something.

I leaned forward, straining to make it out. Voices from the other nearby houses drifted back to me.

 _Now if I just add a pinch of vanilla..._

 _Come on! Just get to the goal—oh, come on, seriously?_

 _Sheesh, I hate checking my email, but if I miss another message from the boss..._

I could make out the title of his book with ease at this distance, but I still couldn't make out what he was saying. It was too low, too indistinct.

I sat perfectly still, warring with myself. There was no one close by, no eyes to see this yard from where they were. Maybe...

But it would be wrong. Pointlessly, mindlessly risky.

Even as I said the words to myself I dropped from my branch, landing silently on my toes. I stood there for a moment, frozen in a half crouch, staring across the yard where he still lay, perfectly still.

What I was about to do was irresponsible. Foolish. What was happening to me? Of all of Carine's adopted children, I had always been the most meticulous, the most careful. I was the oldest sibling, and I had always acted it. Now...now. Even when I was thinking clearly, it felt like I was in a fog, a fever. I couldn't resist even the smallest temptations, like he was the sun, and I was the helpless planet, caught in his orbit. I couldn't keep away.

Holding my breath, I stepped out carefully into the light.

I was instantly transformed. The sunlight broke over my skin, and my hard skin refracted it back like a prism in an array of light and color. In the murky shade of an overcast day, our skin was dull stone, hard, but still passable as that of a human—however, in sunlight, our hard skin turned to something very much like diamond. Unsettling to a human, terrifying. Inhuman. Monstrous.

With perfect silence I crept toward him, then stopped a few yards away. I took a deliberate breath through my nose—I hadn't tasted his scent since early that morning, and once again at the few hours' absence the burning, flaming temptation hit me hard. My throat ignited, venom filled my mouth.

I stood where I was a moment, fighting my instincts down, then took one last step forward, until I stood over where he lay. My shadow fell across his face, and in the shadow I saw flickers of color, reflected from my skin. If he opened his eyes now, he would see me for what I was. The monster. The vampire. What would he think? Would he think he was dreaming? Would he have another possible superhero to add to the list? Or maybe by now he had started in on the villains. Maybe he would think I was Dr. Light.

I smiled at the thought, but it was a cool, bitter smile. Even if he had started guessing DC villains, that would be better than the truth.

He had fallen quiet where he lay, and I started to draw back, toward the protective cover of the trees. But then his mouth opened again, and he grunted something under his breath. I hesitated where I was, listening.

"Mmm...Umummm..."

He wasn't saying anything, at least anything intelligible. However, I stayed where I was a moment, wondering suddenly with a pulse of exhilaration if, if I waited long enough, he would say my name again.

Holding my breath, I went to him one more time, crouching down beside him. Carefully, I picked up his book, and retreated with it a few paces.

As I had observed from the tree, it was _Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea_. Judging from the worn binding and dog-eared pages, it was a favorite.

I had read the book once for a class in college. It was about a few men taken prisoner on a mysterious submarine, captained by a strange, even more mysterious man. They discovered the man to be both cultured and a great scientific mind, but there always seemed to be something sinister lurking just below the surface. In the end, for all his learning and true love and compassion for the men who served under him, the captain turned out to also be a man driven by vengeance.

There were plenty of sea monsters and scientific details about underwater exploration—just the kind of book a teenage boy might be expected to like.

I smiled at the thought. I wondered if he had read it when he was younger, and if he had ever imagined himself as the great and enigmatic Captain Nemo, like other boys.

I rifled carelessly through the pages of the much-loved book, until a particular familiar passage caught my eye. A speech from the captain.

" _I am the law, and I am the judge! I am the oppressed, and there is the oppressor! Through him I have lost all that I loved, cherished, and venerated—country, wife, children, father, and mother. I saw all perish! All that I hate is here!"_

My smile slowly faded. Carefully I replaced the book and retreated back a few yards. However, before I went. I turned to take one last look at his sleeping face, his skin seeming to glow in the sunlight, not in the disturbing, unnatural way mine did, but in a human way. Soft, beautiful.

I wondered, if I did somehow succeed—if I did make him fall in love with me—and then I took away everything, his father and mother, his humanity, his life, how much he may hate me in the end. When, through me, he lost everything he had cherished.

I let myself gaze upon his features from this unforgivably close distance for a moment longer, before I slunk back to the cover of the shadows—where I belonged.

The afternoon passed. I watched him as the sun slowly sank in the sky, and the shadows crept across the lawn toward him. In spite of all my resentment toward the sun, I suddenly found I didn't want it to go. I wanted it to stay with him, for his sake. But, almost as though to spite me, the darkness came anyway, closing over him, snatching away the warm glow on his face, and leaving his skin far too pale—almost ghostly. As though Archie's vision had already come to pass.

I concentrated on the reassuring sound of his steady heartbeat.

He didn't awaken until the sound of his father's car engine arriving in the drive broke the silence. He sat up sharply and glanced around briefly, disoriented. For just a moment his eyes lingered on the shadows where I stood, concealed, but they flickered quickly away.

"Charlie?" he called, looking confused.

The car door slammed as Chief Swan got out and headed toward the house. As usual, his thoughts were muffled from my hearing, though I sensed hunger and expectation—likely looking forward to whatever his son had prepared.

Beau quickly got to his feet, looking jumpy, as if he somehow sensed the eyes watching him. He glanced back toward the woods one more time, before he picked up the quilt and book and headed back inside.

Dinner was a quiet affair, as was the rest of the evening. The Swan residence was not a talkative place. Once again I found I could not properly hear Chief Swan's mental voice—I only got a sense of general emotion. However, I could still feel the overwhelming affection he held for his son, which was at odds with the casual, abbreviated conversation. Beau brought up the plans they had for the next evening, and his father raised no objections. Chief Swan must have been a fairly lax parent in spite of his vocation, but then, I suppose it made more sense that parents of responsible teenagers didn't need to be strict. He gave an obligatory warning not to stay out too late on a school night, and that was about it.

I decided he should probably be in little danger, at least for an hour or two, and so I slipped out of my tree and headed back home. I would come back later tonight, after he was asleep, but for now I decided to stop by home and go for a short hunting trip. It felt strange, hunting every day when I was used to going two weeks or more at a time on one meal. But I could never be too careful. Every little bit helped.

I found the house empty when I returned, which was just as well. It was nice to have some peace and quiet in my mind, especially since many of my family's thoughts had turned increasingly disparaging lately, and/or concerned for my mental welfare. I noticed a note tacked to the newel post.

 _Having a football game at the Rainier field! See you there? Please?_

— _El_

I found a pen and quickly wrote back _Sorry_ beneath the plea. It was just as well anyway, as the teams would be even without me.

I stayed close by for my hunting, sticking to the less tasty but more plentiful herbivores, then changed into new clothes before I ran back to Forks.

He slept restlessly again, as he had the first night, tossing and turning, and muttering incomprehensibly. I couldn't get enough to interpret the dreams that seemed to plague him, except I thought he seemed to be afraid of something—several times he mumbled words too indistinct to be understood, but I was certain the tone was a plea.

I was relieved when the next day arrived, knowing that it was the last of my imprisonment, and would be overcast again tomorrow. Again I felt a needle of guilt, knowing I was glad to see the absence of something he preferred. But I consoled myself the sunshine did not seem to be doing much to improve his mood anyway—if anything, he seemed more depressed and agitated than he had the previous day.

I remembered Allen's thoughts—that the reason he was down was due to my, or at least my family's, absence. It was a comforting thought. Wednesday couldn't come soon enough—then I could see whether it was true.

He seemed so depressed at school that I began to wonder if he would back out of the Port Angeles outing. He didn't seem at all in the mood. However, he seemed to get a little better toward the end of school, and as Jeremy picked him up after he had driven his truck home and they headed over to Allen's next, he seemed almost cheerful, or as cheerful as he ever seemed. I should have been happy for the change, but, selfish as always, I was disappointed. Allen's theory was looking less likely all the time.

I headed home to get my car. Patricia and Charles were there when I arrived and, as they were leaving soon and I had rudely been MIA their entire visit, I decided an hour or so at home before I set out wouldn't hurt. Besides, I thought it was probably best to give Beau and the others a decent head start—I pictured the torture of driving behind them at near the speed limit the entire way, and had to suppress a shudder.

Reactions to my sudden reappearance were mixed. As I emerged into the front room, heading straight for the piano, I felt Royal glaring at the back of my head, while Earnest, who up to now had been overjoyed for me, watched me with obvious concern. Archie beamed and mentally called, _Have fun stalking him in Port Angeles tonight. Let me know when I can talk to him._ Eleanor was still incredulous I had missed the game last night to sit and watch someone sleep, while Jessamine was indifferent to me, her attention absorbed in saying farewell to her friends.

Meanwhile, Patricia and Charles kept stealing uncertain glances in my direction, clearly unsettled. They both picked up on the emotion of my music as I began to play. The notes came quick and sharp—agitated, impatient.

 _So peculiar, this one,_ thought Charles, eying my slightly tense back. _Eccentric. She seemed perfectly all right the last time we were here..._

Charles and Patricia were almost always on the same wavelength, and Patricia's thoughts were similar. _I wonder if it has something with the diet of animals,_ she thought. _Maybe for some, the lack of human blood eventually leads to madness?_

The two of them could have been twins, for their matching white-blond hair and similar thinking patterns. A good match, I'd always thought. I couldn't resent them questioning my sanity—with the way I'd been acting, I had to seem like the reclusive, paranoid, socially ill-adjusted member of the family. _Sane_ was not a word that could be truthfully applied to my current behavior.

I made an effort to reign myself in, played more softly and gently, and before long I was forgotten again.

I paid little attention to them for awhile, instead focusing only on the music, trying to make it relax me. After following Beau around almost nonstop for so long, even going an hour without seeing him made me uneasy. I tried not to think of any of the list of potential disasters I'd given Eleanor.

My mind only returned to the present when at last the goodbyes grew more final.

"Take care," Jessamine said, in her stoic, even way. "And if you run into Miguel again, tell him I wish him well."

Patricia did not look at all thrilled at the idea of seeing Miguel again. Miguel was responsible for creating all three of them, Jessamine, Patricia, and Charles. They had all escaped from Miguel's ferocious army of newborns, which he used to maintain his territory in brutal, nonstop combat against other clans; Miguel had once tracked Jessamine down once, claiming only for a friendly visit, and to tell her he bore her no ill-will for leaving the army. However, his real purpose had been to ask her to come back—it had been an eventful few days, and we had had to move immediately.

There was little doubt Miguel blamed Patricia for Jessamine's defection and, given that Jessamine had always been his favorite, I knew he bore a grudge against both Patricia and her mate. If Patricia ever ran into Miguel again, there was no telling if she would walk away from it.

"Thank you," Patricia said, smiling a little. "We will." She correctly took Jessamine's greeting to pass along for what it was—potentially a little bit of protection from Miguel's petty resentments. Miguel had fought alongside Jessamine long enough to know just how dangerous an enemy Jessamine was to have, and it was not wise to go around killing any friend of hers.

Jessamine shook both of their hands, and they were now ready to depart. I allowed the song I was playing to trail off to an unsatisfying end, then got to my feet, a little too quickly.

"Charles, Patricia," I said, nodding in their direction.

My polite mask didn't fool them, and they could see plainly how anxious I was to be gone. Rude to a fault, that was me.

"It was nice to see you again, Edythe," Charles said, also polite, while he eyed me with open doubt.

"Best of luck to you," Patricia added.

They were barely out of sight and into the woods before I was striding across the room, intent on getting to my car. Archie mentally called after me, _They're going straight east, you know. Seattle. Port Angeles is safe._ He summoned one of his visions as proof.

I ignored him. Vampires weren't the only possible danger in the world. Or so I told myself.

 _Stalker_ , he added with a wide grin.

I didn't answer, partially because there was a roomful of other eyes watching as I slipped out the door—Royal with scorn and irritation, Eleanor with incredulity, and Earnest with concern beginning to mingle with pity. And also partially because, even if I would never admit it aloud, I already knew he was right.

 _It's all for a good cause,_ I told myself as I got in my car, and the engine Royal had boosted for me—last year, when he was in a better mood—purred to life.

Whether stalking of this sort could ever really be justified, especially when the danger was headed in the opposite direction, I found I didn't really care. With every mile that flew away under my tires, I would be getting closer to him—and for the moment, that was all that mattered.

* * *

A/N: Another fun chapter to work on, particularly the scene with McKayla near the beginning. Again, I decided to go for something different with McKayla than how Mike came across in Midnight Sun, mainly because I always felt like Mike came off feeling somewhat one-dimensional. (Given what we knew of him from the books from Bella's perspective, I felt like there would have been opportunity to give us a little more complexity, both positive and negative character traits alike, whereas in Midnight Sun, he just feels like he's there to be the bad guy.)

Anyway, that's it for now. Thanks so much for all your comments last chapter, and if you have a moment, let me know what you thought. Hope to see you next time! C:

Posted 10/9/18


	10. Port Angeles

A/N: Hey! Back again! C:

I said last time that I was thinking of moving more toward a four-week schedule to give myself more time on Breaking Dawn, but as I got into the editing on this particular chapter, I decided to delay that by at least the next couple chapters. (I'd completely forgotten that somewhere along the line I'd decided to split the chapter from the original Midnight Sun into two for length, and I'd just feel bad about myself if I started stretching things out now.) But anyway, more on that at the end.

Definitely been looking forward to getting to these chapters here—hope you enjoy, and see you on the other side! :J

* * *

Chapter 9: Port Angeles

When I reached Port Angeles, it was still too bright to drive into town. Though my windows were tinted dark, I didn't want to take any more unnecessary risks than I already had, and Archie's vision of Patricia and Charles's chosen direction did make me feel a little more relaxed.

I was certain I'd be able to find Jeremy's thoughts from a distance. Familiarity made particular minds easier to find, and I was unfortunately very familiar with Jeremy's thoughts. And once I found Jeremy's louder thoughts, it would be easy to find Allen nearby, whose mind I preferred to inhabit by miles.

It had been a little while since they arrived, so likely they would have already gotten their corsages and gone, but I decided to check the florist's first. There was really only one place in town I expected most of the the students would go, which made it easy.

To my faint surprise, they were all still there. Though Allen had long ago decided what he would get, Jeremy kept going back and forth, talking to the woman behind the counter.

 _Yeah, she's right,_ he was thinking. _I definitely don't want to go yellow. But would red seem like I was coming on too strong? What about pink? What color is McKayla even wearing, were we supposed to coordinate? Dang it, I should have asked her._

He turned. _"Hey, Beau, what do you think?"_

Beau was standing nearby, pretending to look over some of the flower displays, though he was clearly beginning to look a little bored.

" _Umm, I don't know if it matters that much. I'm sure McKayla will like whatever you get."_

Jeremy shrugged. _"Maybe you're right."_ However, as Beau turned away again, he eyed him with suspicion. _Does he really think that? Or is he hoping it'll be a flop? Now that McKayla's paying attention to someone else, maybe you're not so indifferent now, huh? Too bad, you missed the boat, she's all about me now..._

His mind filled with all the lewd daydreams about Mckayla that were never far, and I wrinkled my nose, already tired of listening to Jeremy. I shifted to Allen, but Jeremy was taking so long he was in search of a bathroom, and I left him alone to his business.

It seemed like Jeremy would have them there awhile—he hadn't even started looking at ribbon colors yet—and I decided there probably wasn't a whole lot of danger in a florist's shop. I could leave them to themselves for awhile, then catch up with them when they were done. It wouldn't be long until it was dark—the clouds were already starting their inevitable return, drifting in from the west. I caught glimpses of them through the trees.

The sight of the them excited me like nothing else. With the return of the shadows, I could go out, pretend to be human again. I could sit beside him in school, monopolize all his attention at lunch and ask him all the new questions I'd saved up. I wondered if he would be more cheerful when he saw my car in the parking lot...

I tried to fill up the time imagining tomorrow, what I would say, what he might say, but if anything that only made me more impatient.

The time crawled by at a snail's pace as I waited for the shadows to lengthen. I checked in periodically with Jeremy, but he was still filled with fantasies about McKayla and I didn't like to linger there too long.

My impatience was growing more pronounced. For a little while, I entertained myself with the idea of calling Archie, then coincidentally choosing the same movie, at the same time. For a moment I actually considered it, touching the phone in my pocket. However, I knew if I did that, Archie would expect to be allowed to talk to him, which I definitely wasn't ready for. Wasn't one vampire in his life bad enough? Not to mention Beau, observant as he was, might think the coincidence a little too incredible, and begin to suspect that I was stalking him. That was a conversation I most definitely preferred to avoid.

I checked in with Jeremy again. He was thinking about some video game he had gotten.

" _Maybe I should take it back,"_ he was saying to Allen. _"I was supposed to just be using this money for the dance..." If my dad finds out, I am so screwed,_ he thought. _Will he believe I really spent that much on just a corsage?_

Allen shrugged. _"We can go back, if you want. You think Beau might be looking for us though?"_

I froze. He wasn't with them?

I gazed through Jeremy's eyes first, then Allen's. They were standing on the sidewalk in front of a row of shops. Alone. Beau was nowhere in sight.

Jeremy was annoyed. _"He said he'd meet us at the theater, he probably won't be there until it's about time to start. We have plenty of time." Wonder where he went anyway,_ he thought. _An errand? Oh well, who cares._

I gripped the steering wheel a little more tightly, searching Jeremy's thoughts, trying to find something to indicate where he might have gone. But, Jeremy clearly didn't know anything. I switched to Allen, but Beau hadn't been all that specific to him, either.

I mentally swore. Wandering off without telling at least one person where he was going? Wasn't he supposed to be more responsible than that?

He was probably just fine. I knew Eleanor would have said I was overreacting, but I couldn't help feeling a bit edgy. Without him in sight, I had no way of knowing for certain if he was all right.

I hesitated, glancing toward the west. The sun would be behind the clouds soon enough. And if I stayed on the west side of the road, where the buildings would shade the street from the fading light...

As I made my way into town, driving through the sparse traffic, I berated myself. This was something I should have anticipated. Or I should have been paying closer attention at the very least. Some bodyguard I was.

I knew Port Angeles well, and I went to the florist's shop first, though I knew he wouldn't have gone back there. Maybe if I could pick up his scent, I could follow where he had gone.

When I reached the florist's, I was relieved to find a patch of shade to park in. The sun was angled just right, so that the shadow made a pathway all the way to the shop's overhang.

For a minute I sat in the car, debating. Was it worth the risk? It was still daylight, and a passing car could throw the sun's reflection up into the shade at exactly the wrong moment.

I gripped the steering wheel. I had to risk it. Finding him was the most important thing right now.

Cautiously, I got out of the car, staying close to the deepest part of the shadows. I came to a stop in front of the florist's. I inhaled deeply, and I immediately picked up his scent—I would know it anywhere, the way it seared my throat and lungs.

I knew instantly he had gone in the opposite direction of the video game store. I followed his scent, one block, then another, until I came to a stop in front of what looked like a new age bookstore. I approached the door, and I could smell his scent on the handle, but as I opened the door, I could tell he hadn't gone inside. The middle-aged man behind the counter opened his mouth to welcome me, but by then I was already gone.

I continued on, until I reached a point where it seemed he had crossed to the other side of the street, and there the path of shadows ended. I couldn't go further without finding myself directly in the fading sunlight.

I retreated back to my car, turning it around and heading up the street past the bookstore.

Several times I found patches of shade and got out to find his scent again. However, I only grew more and more bewildered. He seemed to be going south, but there really wasn't much in that direction. What kind of errand was he trying to run? Or had he gotten lost?

At some point I lost the trail, and I wondered if perhaps he had turned around and gone back. It was still a bit early to meet at the theater, but maybe he would choose to go back earlier, to make sure the others wouldn't have to wait for him.

I headed back in that direction, but as soon as I got out of the car, I knew he hadn't been there. I drove back to the florist's, then back to the theater again, and this time when I got out I had to duck away quickly, as Allen and Jeremy were walking up now—it was close to starting time.

I was on the verge of panic now. If he was coming to the theater, he would certainly be there by now. Either he had gotten lost, or...something had happened.

" _This—blasted—sunlight,_ " I said through gritted teeth as I raced my car through the streets. It would be simple to track him if I was on foot. But it was impossible, hopping from one patch of shade to the next, hemmed in on all sides by prison bars of sun.

I began flitting through the minds of strangers, searching for his face. Surely someone had to have seen him somewhere. I couldn't believe I hadn't considered how difficult it would be to find him when, as now, he was away from his friends and off any of his normal paths. The peculiar silence of his mind was a protection from me, but severely complicated my protecting him.

My eyes flickered toward the west. The clouds were massing on the horizon now—very soon the cursed sunlight would be gone and I would be free to track him on foot. When the sunlight was gone, the advantage would be mine once again, and it would be the human world that was powerless.

Trivial human thoughts flickered through my mind in a blur.

 _...crying, could it be another ear infection?_

 _...late again! She knows she's on her last..._

 _...sure it was four-seven-one, or was it four-one-seven?_

 _...cripes, it's a cop._

I paused on that last thought. Relief flooded through me as I saw his face—someone had seen him. Now I just had to follow the mind until I could get an exact location.

 _Doesn't have his partner with him this time, though,_ the thoughts continued. _He's the newbie of the two, that much is for sure—we can take care of him._

I listened, as the tone of the thoughts turned from fear to relaxation, even anticipation. It was a woman. I looked through her eyes at the dark back alley in which she stood, now all moving swiftly. It was a rundown place, deserted—not a good part of town.

As I read her intentions, I felt my hard stomach turn to ice, then fire—rage, unlike anything I had ever felt, pulsed through me. My foot slammed into the gas pedal, pushing it all the way to the floor and I was suddenly tearing through the streets. But I didn't know where I was going—I knew the general location, but the woman's knowledge was not specific enough. The place was shadowy, ill-kept, and outside the normal shopping district—but there were no identifying signs close by.

As I raced, I listened to the woman's sickening thoughts, and the story began to slowly come together.

It was a dark part of town, away from the bustle of normal people and tourists. A good place to sell her goods—crack cocaine was her specialty, but she had worked in pot, meth, and even Ecstasy, on occasion.

The moment she had seen the young guy pass by on the other side of the street, she immediately recognized him—she'd seen him at the airport, with his partner in full dress uniform. Obviously he was the junior partner. He must have been following them.

She'd felt an initial quiver of fear, but it was soon replaced with glee. A lone cop, stumbled into her territory—this would be fun, and it would earn her some respect from the other dealers. No one would dare try to muscle in on her territory after this...

This wouldn't be her first murder. How many homeless bums who couldn't pay up for their hits had she and the boys taken out behind a warehouse and shot? But this would be her first cop. She was thrilled, excited—finally, one in the eye to the smug, pompous hypocrites of law enforcement.

She was cornering him now. I desperately looked through her eyes, searching for some identifying marker of the location. A chain link fence topped with barbed wire, piles of engine parts, the back of a warehouse—the industrial sector, toward the south. But the area was too large, the images too vague. I needed more.

" _Hey, pig,"_ the woman called.

He slowed, and half turned his head. His face was wary, rather than confused. Observant as he was, he must have guessed the illegal nature of what was taking place.

" _What?"_ he asked. _"I'm sorry, do you mean me?"_ Playing ignorant. Smart—except for the fact he was a terrible actor.

" _Sorry?"_ sneered the woman, her thoughts briefly flicking back to their previous encounter.. _"Is that your favorite word or something?"_

He was backing away as she approached, a hint of fear in his eyes now. His gaze shifted away from her to something beside her.

A harsh male voice added, _"Aren't you gonna call for backup,_ Officer?"

The woman wasn't alone—I should have realized, in all her memories of killing, she always had at least one or two with her to do the dirty work.

As Beau tried to argue that he wasn't a cop, I expanded my scan, and found two others, both men, as experienced in underworld dealings as she was.

Beau made a sudden movement—half-tripping over some invisible object, as always—and one of the men pulled a gun.

My breathing stopped. However, as the one man drew the weapon, it made the other one nervous. He glanced to the side, looking for anyone who might be watching, and in that instant, his eyes fell on a cross street I recognized.

I took a hairpin turn at sixty miles an hour, and blew through a stop light, sliding between two cars with barely feet to spare. By the time their horns had time to blare, they were far behind me.

I felt my phone vibrate in my pocket, but I didn't answer. I had a feeling I knew who it was.

I could still hear the voices in my head, see his face—he was backed up to the chain link fence, his hands in the air. The two men were arguing. The shorter man—he just went by the name Ed—thought it unwise to murder a kid if they didn't have to. If he was just some cop's kid, and not a cop... The taller one—Arnie Stoker—was convinced Beau was lying through his teeth, trying to save his skin.

It was the woman who decided things. I saw her cold smile through the eyes of the other two, her eyes gleaming with a wild relish. _"How's that pirate song go?"_ she asked softly. _"Dead men tell no tales."_

I saw him through her eyes—saw the color drain from his face as he understood what was about to happen. He tried to deny it—he wasn't going to say anything because there was nothing to tell.

But there was nothing he could say. She was already decided. It didn't matter whether he was a cop or just a cop's kid like he said. In her mind, it was nice to have a bit of entertainment once in a while, to relieve the tedium of everyday life on the streets. Something to change up the routine.

" _My wallet's right here in my pocket,"_ he tried, voice cracking, his eyes desperate. _"There's not much in it, but you're welcome to it..."_ He tried to reach for his wallet, but the tall man tensed, lifting the gun barrel an inch.

" _We need to keep this quiet,"_ Ed snapped—he was the most pragmatic, least reckless of the group. He had spent eight years of his life in the pen, and he wasn't eager to go back, especially not for murdering a cop's kid. _"Put the gun away."_

Arnie hesitated, and didn't drop the gun.

Ed started forward, an old rusted pipe in hand. _Head first_ , he thought. _Then he won't have time to scream._

Beau's expression had changed. The fear was gone, his face smooth, in a look of concentration. Or acceptance?

Ed raised the pipe.

I was a block away now, and I pushed the accelerator to the floor. The sun had dropped below the cloud cover now, and my mind was perfectly clear as I absorbed every horrific detail—the twisted old pipe in the fading light, the sickening collage of thoughts from the attackers, Beau's pale but determined face as it appeared from three different angles—and most of all, the terror sharpening to a point in my chest, as it filled my mind with a silent scream—

They heard the low growl of my accelerating engine and the screech of my tires against the pavement, and everyone froze in place a moment before I appeared, taking the turn at such a speed I felt the frame groan, and nearly lifted up onto two wheels. Next moment my headlights lit the scene I had only caught fragments of in the eyes of the assailants. I took in everything in an instant, the woman and her two accomplices, Arnie still holding the gun and standing a little ways away, Beau standing with his back pressed to the chain link fence, and Ed, who I saw had extensive tattoos on both sides of his neck, feet from Beau, old pipe in hand.

I took aim at the immediate threat first, going straight at him.

Ed had squinted at the sudden light, half raising a hand to block it, and now he stared in disbelief, for a moment unable to react. He didn't really think I would keep going; his instinct told him I would stop at the last minute, or swerve around him.

I stared at him, the pipe in his hand, and I remembered again the image of his plans as he had envisioned them in his mind. Then I envisioned what _I_ was going to do. I pictured how it would feel, when the front bumper struck his soft body. The way the momentum would carry his body up, over the windshield, the way he would fly over the top of the car, the _crunch_ of his bones as they snapped like twigs when his broken body struck the ground on the other side. I inched the accelerator down a hair.

His eyes widened as he realized what was about to happen and at the last possible second, he hurled himself out of my path, avoiding collision by inches. He slammed into the chain link fence, filling the air with a metallic rattling.

Beau had flattened himself against the fence, apparently afraid he was next, or perhaps even that he was the target. First thing was first—I had to make sure he was safe. Then I would deal with the others.

I twisted the wheel hard as I hit the brake, spinning the car so the passenger door was closet to Beau, and reaching over to shove it open.

"Get in," I hissed at him.

Almost as though he had been expecting me all along, without hesitation he threw himself into the passenger seat, slamming the door shut behind him.

The moment he was inside, I felt the terrible, overwhelming panic vanish. I had him with me now. He was safe.

Now, there was business I had to attend to.

He was yelling at me. "Drive, Edythe, get out of here! He's got a gun!"

I barely heard him. I stared out the front windshield. For the moment, most of them were too stunned for much coherent thought. Was I a cop, called in as backup? However, Ed was already doubting it. Cops didn't try to run people down. A rival supplier?

I heard their thoughts without really caring. Instead, I made several quick calculations. It would take three seconds to kill them. I could snap each of their necks without spilling their blood—I didn't want to risk getting any part of them inside me, after all. Arnie, who was still holding the gun would be first, and then the man with the pipe next. The woman—the others seemed to avoid thinking her name, or perhaps didn't even know it—was armed like the others, but had no weapons out at the moment, and would be last.

I hoped she had a quick enough mind that she would see what was coming for her. For the other two, killing the kid was just a necessary course of action, something one just did in this line of work to cover all the bases, keep from getting shipped off to prison. But the woman—she was positively exultant at the prospect. She took pleasure in the thought of killing a cop, or the son of a cop. I wanted her to suffer, even if it was only for a moment.

Once that was done, I would get Beau to a safe place, then I would come back and dispose of the bodies. They would simply disappear, never to be heard from again. Maybe some of the addicts who relied on her as their supplier would miss her, but it wouldn't be that suspicious. People in this line of work disappeared all the time. No one would have any reason to suspect anything...unnatural.

"Keep your head _down_ ," I ordered. There was no chance any bullets would reach him—at this close distance I could reach out and catch a bullet if I had to—but this wasn't something I wanted him to see.

I opened the car door.

I was already moving when I felt a hand close around my wrist. I felt the heat even though my jacket.

"What are you _doing_?" he demanded, and he sounded almost angry. "Drive!"

My eyes flickered for a moment, down to his hand, then returned to the dark figures I saw beyond the windshield. They were still blinded by my headlights, and couldn't see clearly enough to get a shot in, but that wouldn't last long. Better if I got this done as soon as possible—it would be slightly conspicuous to drive back to Forks in a car with the windows blow out and bullet holes in the seats.

The woman's eyes were beginning to adjust, and she could just make out the dark outline of my small figure in the driver's seat. She looked uncertain for a moment. Beneath calculations of whether I was a cop to the rescue or another drug boss taking advantage of the situation, she had an instinctual, gut feeling she couldn't explain—a nameless fear she couldn't rationally understand. I knew she still couldn't make out my face in the glare of the headlights, but perhaps so much time living on gratification of her basest instincts had sharpened her most bestial senses. Deep down, perhaps her subconscious mind knew what her conscious mind had not yet grasped.

She was about to die.

However, Beau had still not let go of my arm.

I could have pulled away—his fingers were weak and human, and couldn't hold me. And yet, I didn't move. I couldn't.

"Give me a minute here, Beau," I muttered in a low, fast voice. A strange mix between another order and a plea. I could pull away, and without hurting him. Why didn't I?

"If you go out there, I'm going with you," he said, so softly it was almost a whisper. However, his voice was earnest. "I'm not letting you get shot."

I was incredulous. He'd seen me stop a van with my bare hands. Surely he didn't think _bullets_ would have any effect on me.

Or was his reflex action something different? An automatic instinct to prevent the murders of three people, even though they would have done the same to him. An instinct opposed to payback.

I suddenly understood why I couldn't bring myself to pull away. Maybe I was physically stronger than he was, but his simple act was his way of expressing what he wanted, whether he wanted us to leave because he was really afraid for my safety, or for some other reason. He was showing me what he wanted, and I couldn't disregard it.

Outside the car, the three were beginning to rally.

 _...Shoot out the tires,_ Arnie was thinking. _Then we'll get both of them._

 _...Gotta get the hell out of here,_ Ed was thinking. _Who knows how many more are on the way?_

The woman was looking straight at where I sat, though she still couldn't see any more than a dark outline. And, almost as though she were taunting me, she thought, _Next time. Next time we see the baby pig, he's dead._

I nearly ripped myself from the car—a red tint had fallen over my sight. I wanted to break her fingers and snap her neck. I wanted to peel off her skin and gouge out her eyes.

The only thing that kept me in place was the warm hand, still clutched around my arm.

I took one short, steadying breath. He was right, I had to get my priorities in order. Get him to safety first. This wasn't something he should be close by to chance witnessing—he was a kind person, who would find no gratification in a violent vengeance. I would get him safely away, and then...then I would come back.

I yanked the door shut, and slammed the gearshift into reverse. "Fine," I muttered. They could only watch as I pulled us back around the corner, and then took off down the street at a blistering speed.

I saw out of the corner of my eye as his body was flattened back against the seat at the force of my acceleration. I remembered that my driving may not be entirely safe for humans—especially not right now, not with the mood I was in.

"Put on your seat belt," I commanded him.

He complied, finally letting go of my arm to do so. I was free again.

I tore through the neighborhood like a hurricane, not stopping for anything. Her face and thoughts were still in my mind—the images as they readied to do what they were about to do played like a horror reel. A raging fury had seized hold of me, so fierce I thought surely it must unfreeze my cold, still heart—unfreeze it, and burn it to ashes, leaving nothing but a gaping black hole.

I was glad now I hadn't killed them all as I originially intended in those first few seconds. Even though it burned at me, a physical agony, I would have more time when I went back. I would give the two men a relatively quick death, but the woman—she would die slowly. I quickly sifted through the broad range of tortures, both physical and psychological, that I had born witness to in my days of hunting criminals. Several I had even made use of in my darkest days, my own way of giving some small measure of justice to the victims, or so I had thought at the time. Now, I would bring all those skills to bear once again—I would inflict on her such agonies that she would beg for death long before I granted it to her...

"Are you okay?"

I was startled by the sound of his voice in the dark car.

"No," I snapped, before I could stop myself. The fury and black hatred were pouring out of me, impossible to conceal.

He didn't say any more, and I stared straight ahead. I brought the car to an abrupt stop. We were outside town now, on the edge of the forest. I heard no human minds close by.

I sat there a second, my hands clenched around the steering wheel, and I had to focus to keep myself from wrenching it off.

"Are you hurt at all, Beau?" I asked finally. I glared out at the dark forest, and the words again came out angry, a harsh demand rather than a soothing inquiry.

"No," he answered, sounding a little hoarse. He swallowed, then asked, voice cracking a little, "Are you?"

I turned to look at him for the first time, and again I was incredulous. Was it possible he really hadn't wanted me to go out there because he thought I might be shot? He may not have all the details yet, but surely he had enough to realize the monster I was, the freakish strength, the inhuman durability. The way his mind worked, so insightful and perceptive at times, so apparently dim and backwards at others, was unfathomable as always.

"Of course I'm not hurt," I answered shortly.

"Good," he said. He paused. "Um. Can I ask you why you're so mad? Did I do something?"

Under other circumstances I might have laughed. Unfathomable, definitely. Clearly lines of thought too ridiculous to have a hope of following with any clear logic.

Instead, I let out an irritated breath. "Don't be stupid, Beau."

"Sorry."

I stared back at his honestly confused and apologetic face, remembering how before when I had called him an idiot, he'd gotten angry. He was so inconsistent. Would I ever understand the way he thought? Did I even have a hope?

Looking at his gentle, earnest features brought the woman and her intentions back to my mind.

The flames rose in my chest again. The thought of any of them being allowed to live after this was torture—scalding water in my mouth, sand in my eyes. I didn't want to leave him alone for too long, so I would have to be quick. I wouldn't torture the woman—much—after all. More important that I remove her and the others from the world as soon as possible so they would never think of threatening him again.

I shook my head, turning my eyes back to the forest. Making an effort to keep my voice sounding calm, I asked, "Do you think you would be all right if I left you here in the car for just a few—"

He didn't even let me finish the words before he reached over and grabbed hold of me again. My hand, this time. I had it resting on top of the gearshift, and he curled his fingers around mine.

For the first time, I was briefly distracted from my vicious plans. His skin was warm against mine, and though I knew mine must feel cold as ice and hard as granite, he didn't pull away.

"You're not going anywhere without me," he said, quietly, but firmly.

This brought me back, and as thoughts of my targets flashed through my mind, I was nearly sick with the longing to go after them, to deal with them right now. I burned for it. Yet he insisted on standing in my way.

I stared back at him a minute, willing him to let go. To, perhaps not give _permission_ for what I was about to do—I would never ask that of him—but to not stand against me. Because as long as he wanted to stop me, how could I ignore him?

Especially when, beneath the storm of blazing fury and ferocious bloodlust, a part of me knew he was right—right to stop me from giving free reign to my rage.

A second passed, then two. Finally, I let my eyes slide closed. "Fine," I muttered. "Give me a minute."

The car was quiet, all but for the sound of his breathing. I concentrated, trying to be aware of nothing but the warmth of his hand on mine. I felt the rigid tension leave my body, and it wasn't until I was relaxed once again that I opened my eyes. My gaze slowly dropped to his hand, still over mine. Not clenched, hard or forceful, but gentle. Soft.

"Do you...want me to let go?" he asked, uncertain.

I hesitated. A moment ago I had wanted him to let go. Because letting go would mean I was free to go hunt down those savages. Make them disappear. But he'd made it clear he didn't want me to leave, and I had to abide by that. Now I was just calm enough to enjoy the feeling—the warmth of his skin that seemed to spread into mine and up my entire arm. But it was also soft, breakable—and I knew for every bit of warmth flowing into me, it was being leeched out of him.

"I think that might be for the best," I said at last.

He kept his hand in place a second longer. "You're not going anywhere?" he asked.

"I suppose not," I said reluctantly, "if you're that opposed."

He nodded, trusting me, and he slowly withdrew his hand.

"Better?" he asked.

I breathed deeply, and the fire of his scent seared my throat, though now even that seemed nothing to the black inferno still raging in the pit of my empty chest. "Not really."

He looked at me for a moment, his eyes bewildered, confused. "What is it, Edythe?" he asked. "What's wrong?"

He didn't understand. He was so observant, yet he didn't seem to comprehend what I had been about to do...what I still burned to do, more than anything in the world. Apparently, he'd just been worried about my safety after all.

I could have laughed, but I was still in too black a mood, too full of hate and murderous thoughts.

He didn't understand—didn't understand what I was capable of. Not just in terms of my superhuman powers, but the things I could do, if my fury or passion drove me to it.

And maybe he didn't have to know that about me. If he didn't see it, I didn't have to tell him, though I had just now given him more than a few clues.

However, I remembered what I had come to realize as I sat at the piano just the other day, and contemplated whether he was physically attracted to me. Maybe I was the one he liked at the moment, for that reason. He wouldn't be the first, to be attracted to the unnatural beauty this immortal life gave us, to find our secretive, mysterious ways compelling, fascinating. But as much as the notion thrilled me, excited me, I knew it didn't count. Choosing me wouldn't really count until he chose me knowing the truth, knowing what I was, the dark and the ugly behind the face.

In a strange way, tonight it felt like all the barriers had been broken down. Without excuses, without any attempt at concealment or to explain it away by claiming I had just been in the right place at the right time, I had just unashamedly rushed in to save his life. Shown no fear of guns or anything else—anything else but his death. Now was the time for truth. If it frightened him away, then that was the way it was meant to be from the beginning.

"This may come as a surprise to you, Beau," I said, "but I have a little bit of a temper. Sometimes it's hard for me to forgive easily when someone...offends me."

The words sounded arrogant to my own ears. Like I still had some kind of God complex, as I had had in my rebel days decades ago, like I thought it my place to judge who was fit to live and who to die. It was ugly—but that was the real me. Or a part of the real me.

He flinched slightly. He took a breath, then, incredibly, he began, "Did I—"

Incredulous, I cut him off before he could get the ridiculous question out. "Stop, Beau. I'm not talking about you." Apparently, there were some things I would have to completely spell out, or he would intentionally take them the wrong way.

I turned to look at him. "Do you realize that they were serious?" I demanded suddenly. "That they were actually going to _kill_ you?"

He was nonchalant. "Yeah, I kinda figured they were going to try."

Somehow, his calm made me more angry. "It's completely ridiculous!" I exploded suddenly. "Who gets murdered in _Port Angeles_? What is with you, Beau? Why does everything deadly come looking for _you_?"

He didn't seem to know how to reply to my sudden rant. Of course, he wasn't aware of all his near-death experiences. He didn't know what just meeting me had nearly cost him.

"I..." he began at last. "I have no answer to that."

I turned to gaze at him again. His wide, clear blue eyes were bewildered, worried—and suddenly, I knew I could never do what I still ached to do.

Even after he was gone, and I was alone again, I couldn't hunt them down and murder them. If in the end he did choose me—even understanding what I was—I didn't want to be a murderer, for his sake. He deserved better than that.

"So," I asked, just to make sure even though I was already resigned, "I'm not allowed to go teach those thugs a lesson in manners?"

"Um, no," he said. Then added, "Please?"

Sighing, I leaned back against the seat and closed my eyes. "How disagreeable," I muttered.

It was quiet for a long minute. When I opened my eyes again, I found he was looking at me with an expression I didn't know how to interpret. Curiosity? Or was it wariness?

I would have wanted to keep him here with me forever—after tonight, I wasn't sure how I would ever let him out of my sight again—but as my eyes fell on the clock on the dash I sighed again.

"Your friends must be worried about you," I noted reluctantly.

He looked at the clock too, and seemed startled at the time. It was long past when he was supposed to meet the others at the theater.

I drove back to town, slowing down a little more than I should have, just to lengthen the first time we had together in five days. But all too soon I heard Allen's and Jeremy's familiar thoughts, and I pulled up to the curb nearby.

Beau leaned over and saw them almost immediately. They had their backs to us, headed away. "How did you know where...?" he began, but then seemed to shrug it off. Compared to my finding him, it must not seem that incredible I knew the theater they were going to.

Jeremy, who had been all for getting the tickets and going on in to the movie when Beau hadn't shown up on time, was finally starting to get worried, though he was refusing to show it.

" _I'm sure he just got lost somewhere,"_ he was saying as they turned back in the direction of the florist's. " _Or maybe he just didn't know where the theater was. Man, the movie's already started, I'm never going to let him live this down." Crap, where could he have gone? It's not that big a town. He should have told us where he was going, the turd. Or was he just planning to ditch us all along?_

Allen was silent, staring straight ahead as he tried to come up with a plan. _If we still haven't met up in another half an hour, what should we do? Call his dad maybe? I mean Beau would probably hate it if we make a big deal, but if something happened...he could have been hit by a car, or mugged. He would be here if he could be, he doesn't just forget things, and I'm sure he wouldn't just go off on purpose without saying anything..._

"Stop them," I said. "Before I have to track them down, too." I added, "I won't be able to restrain myself if I run into your other friends again."

Beau stared back at me a moment, then wordlessly got out of the car. Instead of running after them, he kept a grip on the frame of the car, as if afraid I would take off again the moment he let go, and called to them.

"Jer! Allen!"

They both turned, relief coloring their thoughts as they saw Beau waving at them. They came back over, then noticed the car he was standing next to. Allen caught sight of me first, and his eyes widened, mouth falling open slightly.

Jeremy's attention was on Beau, relief quickly turning to annoyance. "What happened to you? We thought you took off."

"No," Beau said. "I just got lost. And then I ran into Edythe." He sounded calm, normal. He wasn't usually so good at hiding things—it was oddly unsettling.

Jeremy noticed me for the first time, and he did an almost comical double take, eyes widening in shock.

Allen managed to stammer out, "Oh, hi...Edythe."

I waved with two fingers at him, and he blinked, still too stunned for much rational thought.

Jeremy's mind, on the other hand, was now going a mile a minute. "Uh, hey," he said vaguely in my direction. _What's going on here? Did they plan this? Why didn't he tell me? Edythe freaking Cullen?!_

He turned back to Beau. "So...the movie's already started, I think," he said uncertainly.

Beau was apologetic. "Sorry about that."

Jeremy glanced at his watch. "It's probably still just running previews." He hesitated, eying Beau with mounting suspicion. "Did you...still want to come?"

Instead of answering, Beau glanced my way, apparently waiting for my signal.

 _Course he doesn't want to come,_ thought Jeremy. _I bet this_ was _planned. Why? Because he doesn't want his dad to find out? I guess his dad_ is _a police chief, maybe he's super strict about dating and stuff. Or maybe it's_ her _family. And what's she doing with him anyway? I thought she wasn't interested in guys in Forks. What did he do to score this? Man, he's seriously been holding out, I'm going to get all his secrets out of him tomorrow if it's the last thing I do._

Allen was thinking again now, trying to figure out what to say to give Beau a hand. _What a strange coincidence. Or did he know where she was going to be and go looking for her? Maybe I can help him a little..._

"Would you like to come...Edythe?" he asked. Quiet and shy as Allen normally was, he had never dreamed of addressing one of the Cullens before, let alone invite one of them to anything—he could barely make himself say my name—but he was willing to stick his neck out for a friend.

I stepped out of the car so I could speak to them directly, and leaned casually against the frame. I smiled widely at Allen—and once again I was glad Beau had at least one friend like him.

"I've already seen this one, but thank you, Allen," I lied.

I glanced toward Beau. I said in an undertone, too low for the others to make out, "On a scale of one to ten, how much do you want to see the movie now?"

"Er, not that much," he answered, mouth barely moving.

Assured now of having the rest of the evening together, and that I wouldn't have to let him out of my sight—not that I ever really had any intention to—my resultant smile was brilliant.

I turned my eyes back to Jeremy. "Will it ruin your night if I make Beau take me to dinner?" I asked.

Slack-jawed, Jeremy wordlessly shook his head.

"Thanks," I said, still smiling. "I'll give Beau a ride home."

I got back in the car, shutting the door behind me. Beau was still standing where he was, hand on the car frame. I waited for a second, and finally turned.

"Get in the car, Beau," I muttered.

He seemed to come back to the present and did as I said.

Jeremy's suspicions were swirling a mile a minute as he muttered, "The _hell_?"

Then we were pulling away, and in a moment we were gone.

* * *

A/N: So. Yes, I decided to split this chapter up, mainly because it just felt way too long all together. (Mostly due to the conversations in the second half of the chapter—the next chapter is actually longer than this one.)

However, because they are technically supposed to be one chapter, and were originally written that way, I'm planning to get the next chapter up next week sometime. (I think it will be more fair that way, and keep these Port Angeles chapters, which I've been looking forward to getting to, from being drawn out unnecessarily.)

Thanks so much for reading, and for all your comments! If you have a moment, let me know what you thought this time around, and hope to see you next time! C:

Posted 10/29/18


	11. Questions

A/N: As promised, the second half of the original Midnight Sun chapter. (When it comes to these alternate-perspective rewrites, it's the conversations that are the real killers...)

Hope you enjoy, and see you at the end! C:

* * *

Chapter 10: Questions

"Did you really want dinner?"

Beau was looking over at me, and there seemed to be something else in his question he wasn't saying.

I glanced at him. He really did seem entirely too calm. If he fainted at the sight of blood, it was hard to believe he wouldn't soon be showing symptoms far more severe given all that had happened. I would feel better if he had some sugar and food in him. I imagined humans reacted better to things when they were strong and well-fed.

"I thought you might," I said at last.

"I'm good," he answered.

I was confused, and more than a little disappointed. I had thought when he said he didn't want to go to the movie, it meant he wanted to be with me. To ask all the questions I had refused to answer before if nothing else. But maybe he just wasn't in the mood, and eager to be alone.

"If you'd rather go home..." I began reluctantly.

"No, no," he said hurriedly. "I can do dinner." He added, "I just meant it doesn't have to be that. Whatever you'd like."

We were already at the restaurant and I stopped the car. I felt a smile spread across my lips. I shouldn't have, but I liked that he didn't want to leave. That he wanted to be with me, too. Maybe Allen and Jeremy were right...or was I reading into it too much? Was he just anxious not to miss his chance to finally get some answers?

I had barely turned off the engine when he suddenly scrambled out of the car, almost catching his jacket in the door in his rush. I looked around, slightly startled, wondering if the panic over what had happened had finally hit. I hadn't expected it to be so sudden.

However, as I got warily out of the car, I saw him waiting for me by the restaurant door. He held the door open for me as I approached.

I couldn't help but smile at him, but then wondered if I should have, as he colored and looked down, looking strangely nervous. I could hear his heart, beating faster than normal. Fear? Was everything that had happened finally beginning to set in?

The loud mental voice of the host suddenly intruded on my consciousness, cutting into my thoughts.

 _Whoa, baby. This must be my night._

The host's eyes had widened slightly as he saw me, and then he was all smiles, bowing low.

"What can I do for you?" he asked.

"A table for two, please," I said, ignoring the sudden array of fantasies already blossoming in his mind. I was more than used to this initial response—we were made to be attractive to our prey. Normally an instinctual fear was fairly quick to kick in after the initial attraction, some sense of something indefinable that was not right.

His eyes flickered once to Beau, before quickly dismissing him as a relative of some kind, or at most a childhood friend—completely platonic—then returned to me.

I was slightly incredulous. Not that I expected a male to pick up on the peculiar appeal of another male, but to not even acknowledge him as a potential rival—it was irritating in a way that was hard to define.

However, nothing was going to ruin the fact I was getting this unexpected bonus time with him—outside school, no less—and my irritation was soon forgotten.

"Of course, er, _mademoiselle_ ," he said, forgetting that the restaurant was an Italian theme, not French, and picking up two leather folders and signaling for us to follow.

He was continuing to think feverishly. _I wonder if she would take my number. Or would that upset the brother?—_ He was already assuming a sibling relationship, possibly half siblings, considering our lack of resemblance— _Oh, who cares if he does. If he wants to fight, I can take him out back. He doesn't look like much, I'd take him apart...but would that upset her?_ He added the last bit anxiously as an afterthought.

He led us toward a table in the center of the most crowded part of the dining room. Beau started to sit down, but I shook my head. As I slipped the host a bill, I said in a soft voice, "Perhaps something more private?"

The host glanced at the bill and his eyes widened slightly before he slipped it into his suit coat.

"Of course," he said, then led us around a partition to a small ring of booths. The section was empty, separated from the main restaurant. No one would be able to see his reactions to whatever I said here.

"Perfect," I said, smiling to show my appreciation—I supposed compared to Jeremy, his fantasies weren't really that outrageous. However, this time I showed my teeth—better to trigger the instinctual fear early before he could really start getting ideas. And it was irritating he could really think Beau was my brother.

The host froze, and his mind went temporarily blank. Then he turned and wandered away in a daze, having forgotten to leave our menus.

I frowned slightly as I sat down. From the tone of his thoughts, I felt as though my smile had not had the desired effect. I sensed no fear, instinctual or otherwise. However, I supposed it didn't really matter. I heard a thud as the host nearly tripped, still in a fog that didn't have the slightest hint of fear.

"That wasn't very nice."

I glanced up, startled. Beau was sitting with his arms folded, frowning at me in a look of something like disapproval.

I wondered if I was actually being reprimanded—not that I didn't deserve it a dozen times over tonight, but I had no idea what he could be talking about. "What do you mean?" I asked at last.

He gestured vaguely. "Whatever that thing you do is—with the dimples and the hypnotizing or whatever. That guy could hurt himself trying to get back to the door."

I didn't know how to respond. I smiled slightly, bemused. "I do a _thing_?"

He snorted. "Like you don't know the effect you have on people."

I glanced down. "I suppose I can think of a few effects."

For a moment the woman's face returned to my mind—her thoughts briefly colored by a fear she couldn't understand. She had no idea of the gruesome fate she had narrowly escaped. I would have broken her—but more than her body, I would have broken her mind. There was surely no one capable of greater psychological torture than I was...

I snapped myself from my thoughts. I was suddenly glad I was here, that Beau had decided to stay with me. I had known from the beginning—if Beau went to the theater and left me alone again, I couldn't be sure my resolve wouldn't weaken. I couldn't be sure I wouldn't go back and kill them after all. And without a time limit, without him somewhere waiting for me, if I could draw out her death, I knew without a doubt I would have.

Better that I was here. Better that Beau had stopped me from falling to that kind of monster, in mind as well as in body.

I pulled myself forcibly from my thoughts and, smiling, trying to distract myself, I said, "But no one's ever accused me of hypnotism by dimples before."

He raised his eyebrows. "Do you think other people get their way so easily?"

I stared back at him, and the question I was dying to ask burned in my mouth. It was out before I could stop it.

"Does it work on you?" I asked. "This _thing_ you think I do?" I smiled playfully to cover my sudden anxiety, and I regretted the words almost as soon as they were out.

He sighed, and it had an odd tone of defeat about it. He smiled ruefully. "Every time."

I was distracted as the server arrived. However, I couldn't look away from the face of the boy in front of me, and he stared back at me. I felt strange—two opposing emotions raged inside me, threatening to tear me apart. Jubilation, triumph—colored by a wild stirring of panic.

His friends' theory regarding his preference for me, which I had been so leery of, seemed to have been right. What did they call it? A crush? Infatuation? He liked _me_ , not McKayla or any of the others. Me.

But still, the terrifying anxiety lurked beneath the surface. I had decided I would tell the truth tonight—parts of it anyway. But now my resolve wavered. He liked me. But was that really so incredible? Lots of humans found me physically attractive. It was part of our lure as predators for drawing in prey. Just tonight, simply seeing me had rekindled a few of Jeremy's old fantasies, and the host had obviously been stunned, too. Now even the waiter was openly gaping at me, his mouth hanging slightly open.

But what did it mean anyway? Royal might have been able to find some measure of gratification in such attention, but ultimately it was all meaningless. How many had looked at me like this? Countless scores of them. But it meant nothing, because if they learned the truth, if they knew the monster I was—how, when I looked at them, I had to fight my natural instincts to kill them and gorge on their blood—they would run. Every last one of them.

Apparently Beau responded to me initially like the others did. But was his infatuation about to turn to fear and loathing? How could it not? How could he do anything but run when he knew the truth? I wasn't a superhero. I was the villain. A killing machine, whose first instincts were always to kill. A monster from a horror story, around which it could never be safe to be.

I was filled suddenly with the temptation to evade all his questions tonight—to promise to answer him later, while taking this time to simply enjoy. To bask in the pleasure of his infatuation, the way he gazed at me, the way his heart beat faster when I smiled, the way he didn't want this time together to be over any more than I did. The way he wanted to know more about me as I did about him. I couldn't lie to him, keep him in the dark forever. But surely just a few days wouldn't hurt anything. A memory to hold onto, when this fairy tale at last came to its inevitable end...

"Hello," said the waiter, still staring at me in open astonishment—it was almost ridiculous. I had never attracted this much attention before, had I? I'd always prided myself on being one of the more low-key members of my family.

The waiter continued, reciting his lines like a robot, "My name is Sal, and I'll be taking care of you tonight. What can I get you to drink?"

I didn't move my eyes from across the table. "Beau?"

He glanced uncertainly between the server and me. "Um, a Coke?" I couldn't tell what he was thinking, and I wondered if he was as concerned for the waiter as he had apparently been for the host.

The corner of my mouth twitched in a conspiratorial smile, before I turned to the waiter.

"Two Cokes," I said. Thirst was a sign of shock, and getting some sugar in his system couldn't hurt. Then I let my mouth deliberately spread into a wide smile.

Beau showed no sign of surprise when the waiter staggered slightly, dizzy and off-balance. I had to fight not to laugh—ridiculous. Completely ridiculous. I was almost certain now that I'd never gotten reactions this extreme. I tried to guess at the difference, and after a moment it occurred to me.

The waiter was still standing there staring, mind blank, and to revive him I added, a little wryly, "And a menu?"

The waiter came back to life. "Yes, of course, I'll be right back with that."

He left quickly, trying to shake off the spell, but already looking forward to falling under it again. However, I wouldn't be giving him that. Making him incompetent with my apparent hypnotism would only be counterproductive.

"You've seriously never noticed that before?" Beau asked, incredulous.

"It's been awhile since I cared what anyone thought about me," I said, a little carelessly. I added, "And I don't usually smile so much."

The more I thought about it, the more certain I became that that was the difference. I'd been doing a lot of smiling today—just the two of us being together, as I had been impatiently awaiting the entire infernally long weekend and too-sunny days, was enough for that.

He nodded. "Probably safer that way—for everyone."

It was my turn to be incredulous. He had to have seen I was on the verge of murdering three people today. Besides politely asking me not to, he hadn't said anything. How he could now condemn me for apparently smiling at people too much, I didn't know. He had officially reached new levels of inconsistency.

I shook my head. "Everyone but you," I muttered. My eyes fastened to him then, seriousness replacing the smile. I had allowed this pleasant conversation to meander for awhile, but after everything that had happened, before we got to the core subject of blood and vampires there was something else I knew I better attend to.

"Shall we talk about what happened tonight?" I asked. I was abruptly in medical-mode, which I had picked up from assisting Carine in years past.

He looked confused. "Huh?"

I raised my eyebrows. "Your near-death experience? Or did you already forget?"

He blinked. "Oh."

"How do you feel?" I continued, making my tone more even, professional.

He gazed back at me uncertainly, suddenly unaccountably wary. "What do you mean?"

"Are you cold, dizzy, sick...?"

He frowned. "Should I?"

There was something about his expression that was strangely entertaining. Or maybe the deprivation of not seeing his face—conscious, that is—for the past five days had me giddy now. I laughed, though it wasn't really an appropriate time.

"I'm wondering if you're going into shock," I admitted at last. "I've seen it happen with less provocation."

"Oh," he said again. He paused a moment, considering. "No, I think I'm fine, thanks."

He never liked attention, but he seemed to have a special abhorrence for the medical variety. He always insisted he was fine, that he didn't need anything. I was starting to wonder if there might have been some trauma in his childhood that had instilled in him some kind of medically-related phobia.

"Just the same, I'll feel better when you have some food in you," I murmured, speaking almost more to myself than to him.

The waiter returned then, with the two Cokes and a basket of breadsticks. He gave me the menu.

The waiter had pulled himself together since the last time and his thoughts were more coherent. Unfortunately, they were also now more vulgar, too. That might have annoyed me at another time, but at the moment I couldn't have cared less. His thoughts were easy to tune out, and instead, my eyes stayed on Beau.

I realized that, amidst all the tension and excitement, I hadn't given myself a chance to really look at him. I did so now, drinking in his every feature. It was such a luxury, to be able to gaze upon his face for myself and not through the filter of anyone's thoughts. To be able to look at him and have him look back at me.

My eyes still fixed entirely on him, I wordlessly pushed the menu across the table for him to study.

The waiter cleared his throat uncertainly, trying to get my attention. "There are a few specials. Um, we have a mushroom ravioli and—"

Both the waiter and I were surprised when Beau cut him off. "Sounds great. I'll have that."

I wondered if he was finally getting slightly fed up with being ignored. Or was he jealous in a different way—that the waiter was paying me such particular attention out of obvious attraction?

I looked into his eyes and I couldn't look away, mesmerized by his stare. But as he gazed back at me intently, I didn't see any jealousy there—and I had a feeling the reason he wanted to get rid of the waiter was that he was ready to start in on his questions.

"And for you...?" the waiter asked me.

"That's all we need," I answered without looking at him. "Thank you."

The waiter waited for a moment, then turned away, disappointed and sullen. _Vic must have been wrong, that must be her boyfriend. He doesn't look it, but maybe he's a rich kid...would explain how she's able to throw money around like that. He looks like he doesn't have a clue, she's probably milking him for all he's worth._

I felt another flicker of annoyance, but I forgot him almost as soon as he was gone.

Beau wasn't doing anything, just staring back at me.

"Drink," I said.

He picked up the glass and did as I said. He took a sip—then, as though he hadn't realized until that moment how thirsty he was, he drained the entire glass.

I watched him closely. Thirst was a sign of shock, or at least an aftereffect of extreme stress. Perhaps he had felt the duress of the situation more than he was letting on.

I pushed my own Coke in his direction.

"No, I'm fine," he said, surprised.

" _I'm_ not going to drink it," I replied pointedly.

"Right," he said, as if I'd reminded him of something he already knew. And without any more protest, he took that one, and it was gone in a moment, too.

He set the glass back on table. "Thanks," he said in a low voice, then shivered.

Maybe it was beginning to set in now. "You're cold?" I asked, leaning forward slightly.

"It's just the Coke," he said, but his shoulders twitched, as though staving off another shiver.

"Don't you have a jacket?"

"Yeah," he answered, reaching to the side, then stopped. "Oh—I left it in Jeremy's car."

He shrugged indifferently, then shivered again, the movement rattling his frame.

Clearly, he wasn't adequately dressed for the night, especially now that the warmth of the sun was completely blocked by cloud cover, and nearly set. I wasn't sure what to do about that—my jacket wouldn't fit his taller frame and even if it did, he'd probably choose to suffer the cold rather than be seen in a women's-style jacket. Men tended to be highly impractical in that regard.

I was wearing a scarf, and I quickly pulled it off. "Here," I said, tossing it lightly across the table.

"Really, I'm fine," he said, pushing it back. I could see his neck starting to turn red—embarrassment.

I wasn't going to let him get away with that. "The hairs on the back of your neck are standing up, Beau," I said. It was true—I could see them from where I sat. I added insistently, "It's not a lady's scarf, if that's what's bothering you. I stole it from Archie."

"I don't need it," he said, frowning.

I couldn't figure out why he was being so stubborn. He didn't believe me, about it not being a lady's scarf? He thought it would look stupid? Or had he just decided to pick now to develop a macho side?

"Fine," I said, slightly exasperated. "Royal has a jacket in the trunk, I'll be right—"

Before I could finish, he reached out for me again, like he had in the car, moving so unexpectedly I was startled. Apparently, he had figured out how to get me to do what he wanted—or stop me from doing what he didn't want me to do—and he was going to keep doing it.

This time I dodged him. He was already cold enough without me draining away any more of his warmth. I slid my hands under the table, though I stayed where I was.

"Don't go," he said quietly. He looked at me, his eyes full of unusual emotion—desperation, worry. "I'll wear the scarf. See?" With the hand he had tried to grab mine, he picked it up and put it around his neck. It was obvious he'd never worn one before—he didn't seem to know quite what to do with it. He just kept wrapping it around until the ends were all used up.

He looked to me. "Did I do it right?"

It was all bunched up around his neck, wound unevenly. It was so thick it looked a little like bunched up sheep wool.

"It suits you," I lied. Then I couldn't stop from laughing, giving myself away.

"Do you steal a lot of things from, um, Archie?" he asked, curious.

I shrugged, dismissive. "He has the best taste."

"You never told me about your family," he said slowly, remembering. "We ran out of time the other day."

This was a topic I wasn't ready to broach—in fact, I wasn't sure how much I wanted to tell him tonight after all. We could take it slow; there would always be time later. I could have a few days at least, surely...before I started telling him things that would make him run from me.

I pushed the basket of breadsticks toward him, distracting him.

"I'm not going into shock," he insisted.

"Humor me?" I asked. Then, remembering what he had said about the hypnotism and the dimples, I smiled, wider than I had at the waiter.

"Ugh," he muttered, annoyed as he reached for the breaksticks. Clearly he was regretting having made me consciously aware of my supposed powers.

"Good boy," I said, laughing—knowing I shouldn't be trying to stir him up, but finding teasing him too tempting to resist.

He glowered at me as he chewed, resenting my control. But not really resentful, I thought—beneath it all, it was a joke. A joke we were both in on.

My smile suddenly faded and I was serious again. "I don't know how you can be so blasé about this. You don't even look shaken. A normal person—" I broke off. There seemed little point reciting what a _normal_ person would be doing in this situation—that much was obvious. "But you're not normal, are you?" I said quietly, almost accusingly.

He swallowed the piece of breadstick he was chewing on and shook his head. "I'm the most normal person I know."

"Everyone thinks that about themselves," I noted.

He raised his eyebrows. "Do you think that about _yourself_?"

I hesitated, pressing my lips into a line.

"Right," he said, and this time the annoyance in his voice was real. "Do you ever consider answering any of my questions, or is that not even on the table?"

My eyes dropped. He was right, I was intentionally evading him, and it wasn't fair. I owed him the truth...maybe I could give him at least part of the truth. Leave the more difficult things until a little later.

"It depends on the question," I said, my eyes still not quite meeting his.

"So tell me one I'm allowed to ask."

I was leaning forward slightly on the table, he leaning toward me. I raised my eyes to look him in the face.

I was in turmoil. He was attracted to me, liked me—but it was meaningless, merely infatuation. It meant no more than Jeremy or the waiter and host's reactions to the way I looked. It meant nothing, so long as he didn't know what I really was.

Or so I kept trying to tell myself, as I thrilled at the way he looked at me, with a kind of frustration born of fascination, curiosity. I owed him answers, and I wanted him to know me. Yet, I was paralyzed with fear. What would I do if he did run? Maybe he only liked me in a shallow way, but in this moment it seemed like so much better than nothing. Than losing everything.

Which of his questions was I willing to answer?

 _The ones that won't terrify you,_ I thought. _The ones that won't make you flee._

The waiter arrived then with the food. We were both still leaning forward, and we automatically straightened.

"Did you change your mind?" the waiter asked me obsequiously. "Is there anything I can get you?"

There was no reason to deprive myself a moment of looking at his face, and I didn't look away from Beau as I gestured to the empty glasses. "Some more soda would be nice."

The waiter's eyes flickered to Beau, and his thoughts were full of disdain. _The kid must be loaded. Son of a corporate president or something. She's putting out a lot of effort for this, you'd think she was totally absorbed in nothing but him. I wonder how often she looks for fun on the side—should I try to slip her my number? Or does she only go for guys if they're rich? Look at those designer clothes, I bet she's got half a dozen dupes like this bozo on a string. Wish I could get on her string. If only I had some cash..._

He left the food and stalked off, stewing over his lack of monetary incentive to get girls' attention.

When he was gone, I spoke, softly, carefully.

"I imagine you have a lot of questions for me."

"Just a couple thousand," he answered.

"I'm sure," I said. I almost smiled, but I couldn't make my mouth form the expression through my sudden tension. "Can I ask you one first?" I asked in a low voice. "Is that unfair?"

His face brightened slightly—he seemed to take this as agreement. "What do you want to know?" he said, suddenly cooperative.

I couldn't look at him. The fear was clutching at my chest, creeping up my throat.

"We spoke before," I said softly, "about how you were...trying to figure out what I am. I was just wondering if you'd made any more progress with that."

Silence. I was afraid to look up, but I knew I had to. Finally, I raised my eyes to gaze into his.

He had gone very still. Color was beginning to creep up his face, contrasting sharply with the pale scarf. Embarrassed, like before? But no, there was something else in his eyes this time, something I didn't know quite how to interpret. Anxiety? Guilt?

Though the fear was like a knife in my gut, something in the tension in his face made me want to reassure him. "It's that bad, then?" I said softly, gently.

"Can I—Can we not talk about it here?" he stammered. His eyes flickered toward the thin partition that separated us from the rest of the restaurant.

"Very bad," I said quietly.

We sat in silence for a moment. I felt suddenly drained. I had been on a roller coaster of emotion tonight—fear and desperation and rage and jubilation and fear again. One after another, sometimes swirling together until I could no longer separate one from the next. I wished I could sleep, and rest my weary mind. But there was no rest to be had, only thought, endless thought, torn between conscience, and passion. Could he have some inkling of the truth? If he did, didn't that mean it was already over—my time in my own personal fantasy up?

"Well," he said, his tone a little less serious. "Actually, if I answer your question first, I know you won't answer mine. You never do. So...you first."

I breathed again, and some of the fear eased, for the moment. As long as I felt I could push it off a little longer, keep feeling I had a little time left, I could still function.

"An exchange then?" I said with a bit of a smile.

He nodded. "Yes."

The waiter came back and dropped off the Cokes. Again, I didn't look at him, and he didn't bother to try to slip me his number.

"I suppose we can try that," I said at last, quietly. "But no promises." Still refusing to show my hand, clinging to the insubstantial attachment he felt toward me, made possible only by his ignorance.

He took a short breath. "So..." he began. "What brings you to Port Angeles tonight?"

Of course he would have to ask that. I had already decided I wouldn't lie in this conversation—but I certainly wasn't ready to admit to stalking him. I almost smiled.

"Next."

"But that's the easiest one!" he protested.

I shrugged, stonewalling. "Next?"

He glared at the table. Wordlessly he took out his silverware and took a bite of his food. "Fine then," he said. When he looked up at me, his eyes were a little harder. And I knew the next question wasn't going to be an easy one.

"Let's say," he began slowly, his tone almost accusing, "hypothetically that...someone...could know what people are thinking, read minds, you know—with just a few exceptions."

He glared, daring me not to reply.

I wasn't surprised he had guessed this about me. I hadn't exactly been subtle about it. I decided, if he had to know some of my secrets, this was one I could live with. It was one of the less horrifying, by far.

"Just _one_ exception," I said. "Hypothetically."

He gaped at me, shocked. To hear me so casually acknowledge something he must have been theorizing about for awhile.

It took a minute, but at last he shook his head and continued, emboldened by what was almost a straight forward answer, "Okay. Just one exception, then. How would something like that work? What are the limitations?" His voice was growing more excited. "How would...that someone...find someone else at exactly the right time? How would she even know I was in trouble?"

I smiled a little. "Hypothetically?"

"Right." He watched me with wary anticipation.

"Well, if...that someone—"

"Call her _Jane_ ," he inserted.

I shook my head, still smiling. "If your hypothetical Jane had been paying better attention, the timing wouldn't have needed to be so exact."

My smile faded as I considered what had almost happened. It made me feel ill—and filled me with blinding fury. When I spoke again, my voice was low and incredulous, and I no longer bothered with the _hypothetical_ nonsense. "I'm still not over how this could happen at all. How does anyone get into so much trouble, so consistently, and in such unlikely places?"

I added, shaking my head again, "You would have devastated Port Angeles's crime rate statistics for a decade, you know."

He frowned. "I don't see how this is my fault."

He had a point—bad luck, being at the wrong place at the wrong time, couldn't be his fault.

"I don't, either," I admitted finally, but in spite of the words, there was accusation in my voice. "But I don't know who to blame."

He stared back at me. "How did you know?" he asked suddenly again, voice low and oddly intense.

I gazed back into his eyes. They were wide, and blue, like a clear sky—the kind of sky you didn't see much of in Forks. I remembered how, the first time I'd laid eyes on him, I'd thought the light color made him look permanently uncertain. His eyes didn't look uncertain now. They were serious, determined.

Something crystallized in my mind then. I knew myself—and I knew this wasn't enough. I had a hold on him now, but it was a shallow one. He was attracted to me, in that indefinable way boys his age were attracted to girls. Like Jeremy, or the host, or the waiter. I enjoyed that feeling, was gratified by it, but I could never be satisfied this way, and neither could he. I wanted to reach the deeper parts of his heart—I knew he was capable of such a deeper love, like the love he had for his mother, and that was what I craved. But I knew the only way I could have it was if he knew the truth. If he knew me, understood me—accepted me in spite of the ugliness, in spite of the monstrous, without conditions...

But what if he ran? What would I do then?

He stared into my eyes, and his own were already full of the kindness and understanding I longed for. "You can trust me, you know," he said softly. Once again he stretched out a hand toward mine. Slowly this time, not to hold me back or stop me from leaving, but a reassuring gesture, full of gentleness.

As I stared back at him, for the first time all my doubt and fear was gone, and I suddenly wanted to tell him everything, without reservation. I wanted him to know about me, to share myself with him, so that someday he might be able to describe me the way he had described his mother—with fondness and understanding and acceptance of strengths and faults alike.

But once again I hesitated, for a completely different and unexpected reason this time. I'd been so focused on the possibility of rejection I hadn't looked closely at the alternative. What if I told him the truth now, and he didn't run? What if, instead, the two of us drew closer together?

It was what I hoped for, longed for—and yet, if I stopped to turn it around, look at it from his point of view, wouldn't that be the greatest tragedy of all? To love me—as more than a passing infatuation, to be bound to me the same way he was to his mother, like family. Bound to a monster. What torment would I put him through if I told him the truth? If I drew him into my world? He was too good, too kind to deserve that.

I drew back my hands slightly before he could touch them. I should have put them under the table, as before, but I couldn't make myself move them from the table surface.

However, he noticed the way I drew back, and let his hand fall back to the table.

"It's what I _want_ to do," I began slowly, haltingly. My voice dropped to barely a whisper, "But that doesn't mean it's right."

He leaned forward. I couldn't look away from his eyes. They were gentle, yet deep, and penetrating. I remembered what he had said about me hypnotizing him. How ironic that seemed now.

He spoke in a low voice. "Please?"

I stared back into his eyes one moment longer, and then I felt what was left of my resistance crumble away like chaff.

"I followed you to Port Angeles," I blurted out in a rush. I was talking too fast, as if getting it over with as quickly as possible would make the facts less bizarre, less creepy. "I've never tried to keep a specific person alive before, and it's much more troublesome than I would have believed. But that's probably just because it's you. Ordinary people seem to make it through the day without so many catastrophes. I was wrong before, when I said you were a magnet for accidents. That's not a broad enough classification. You are a magnet for _trouble_. If there is anything dangerous within a ten-mile radius, it will invariably find you."

I realized my confession had completely devolved into a rant, and I closed my mouth.

When I had pictured myself telling him the truth, I had imagined something more well thought out. Calm, articulate. But I already sounded slightly mad, psychotically obsessed. Well, maybe it was better that way. More honest.

He looked back at me for a long moment. I wasn't sure what I might expect—for him to get annoyed again, that I seemed to be blaming him for bad luck, things outside his control. Or maybe for his eyes to cloud, disturbed, as he asked, _"You were...following me?"_

I watched his face closely, and I saw something change in his eyes. But he wasn't disturbed. Though his face remained impassive, I saw a brightening there. A flicker of excitement.

"You put yourself into that category, don't you?" he asked quietly.

I didn't understand what I was seeing in his eyes—that look like he was thrilled about something. I decided I didn't like it.

When I answered, my voice was flat. "Unequivocally."

He paused for a second, looking in my face. Then, deliberately, he stretched out his hand again for mine.

Once again I automatically pulled back from him. It felt wrong somehow. To let him touch me—to allow myself to be touched by him. Soft, and warm, and so very breakable—it felt wrong to give in to what I wanted.

This time, he ignored my unwilling body language, and laid his hand firmly over mine.

I didn't move a muscle. I knew only too well how the slightest twitch on my part could injure him. When we were touching, I needed to focus my full concentration on the point of contact, and make sure I did nothing to harm him by accident. But even more—I didn't want the moment to end.

"That's twice now," he said softly, sincerely. "Thank you."

My eyes were trapped by his. _You're wrong,_ I thought. Suddenly the tips of my fingers felt numb, and my hard stomach was churning. I'd come this far. Was I going to tell him the truth? The _real_ truth? Of all my countless secrets, along with the darkest one of all?

He grinned a little sheepishly. "I mean, did you ever think that maybe my number was up the first time, with the van, and you're messing with fate? Like those _Final Destination_ movies?"

His smile was a little goofy, and he probably expected me to laugh or at least smile. But I couldn't.

"Edythe?" he said at last cautiously, looking at me with concern. I was sure he must see it in my face—the conflict, the fear, the guilt.

My eyes dropped. I couldn't look him in the face as I readied myself to tell him—the one thing I had most dreaded him knowing.

"That wasn't the first time," I said, very quietly, my lips barely moving. "Your number was up the first day I met you."

I didn't want him to be in any doubt, so I added, "It's not twice you've almost died, it's three times. The first time I saved you...it was from myself."

Silence. When I finally forced myself to look into his eyes, I saw they had clouded over slightly—and I knew he was replaying the memory of that first day in Biology in his mind, the bizarre hatred in my face, the murder in my eyes. His breathing accelerated slightly, and I heard his heart rate increase in his chest.

"You remember?" I said quietly. "You understand?"

He snapped back to the present, and his eyes refocused on me. He looked back at me evenly, calmly. "Yes."

Again we were both quiet. I waited for him to say something more, to explain his thoughts. But he said nothing, and his hand didn't move from mine.

"You can leave, you know," I said. "Your friends are still at the movie."

His eyes never moved from my face. "I don't want to leave."

A sudden, unexpected wave of anger crashed over me. He said he understood, but obviously he didn't. He didn't understand that, from the moment he had stepped into the Biology class and his scent had hit me, I had been positioned like a guillotine hanging over his head. He didn't understand that, when he had come to sit beside me that day, it had been no different from the moment in the alley, when one of the men had pulled a gun and trained it on his chest. I knew, in spite of how nonchalant he might seem now, that he had felt fear in that moment—I'd seen it in the minds of those worthless thugs. The real fear in his eyes.

I was no different from the man holding the gun, a moment away from pulling the trigger, no different from the other man with the pipe, ready to beat out his brains—no different from even the woman, delighted at the prospect of murder.

I had more in common with those pitiless, bloodthirsty mongrels than I had with the naïve, innocent, pure boy sitting in front of me.

"How can you say that?" I asked, quietly, but with an unmistakable edge.

He patted my hands. His breathing was perfectly even, his heart rate normal. There was not even a hint of fear in his blue eyes, only determination.

After a minute, he said, "You didn't finish answering my question. How did you find me?"

I stared back at him, hard, angry that this was his response. So cool, so unconcerned. Did he have absolutely no instincts for self-preservation? Had he lived such a sheltered, safe life he'd never developed the appropriate response to physical threats, to predators? Maybe he was like some domestic animal—a cow or a sheep—raised in the safety of captivity, and so when he saw a wolf or a mountain lion for the first time, rather than turn and flee as a wild, experienced animal would, his first response was to approach the carnivore with an overly trusting, naïve curiosity, unaware of the real danger.

He didn't respond in any way to the fierce look I directed his way, waiting patiently for the answer to his question.

At last I sighed and slumped slightly in defeat. Now that I had told him my worst secret, nothing else seemed to matter much. I would tell him whatever he wanted to know.

"I was keeping tabs on Jeremy's thoughts," I said without preamble.

I didn't bother to wait for a response of shock, or slow down with all the tedious explanations I knew he didn't need. Instead, I talked like I might have talked to Archie—someone on the inside.

I explained how I hadn't been being careful, and I didn't notice right away when he'd left the others. How I'd reached the bookstore he'd apparently considered going into, and how I'd taken to searching random thoughts, seeking him out. How I knew I shouldn't have had any reason to worry, but grew increasingly anxious anyway. How I'd then seen his face in the woman's mind.

He listened attentively as I spoke, never once interrupting.

When I stopped talking, feeling the tendrils of fury rise up in my throat again as I recalled her thoughts, he said, "But you got there in time." As though that ought to cure everything, as though he couldn't understand why I would still be angry when it was over and done with.

I realized suddenly that that was the difference between him and me. He let things go. He didn't hold grudges when people had wronged him, but just went on with his life. He had forgiven me so easily, or else when I apologized told me it wasn't necessary, the same way he didn't resent Phil for taking away his mother. Whatever kind of person he was—I was his polar opposite.

I wanted him to understand exactly what I was, and I said, "It was harder than you know for me to drive away, to just let them get away with that." I hesitated. "It was the right thing, I know it was, but still...very difficult."

Though his hand on mine remained unmoved, his eyes dropped briefly, and I knew he was aware of what almost happened—what I would have done to them if he hadn't acted in a blind impulse to keep me out of danger.

I wasn't ready to relent yet, and I continued, "That's one reason I made you go to dinner with me. I could have let you go to the movie with Jeremy and Allen, but I was afraid if I wasn't with you, I would go looking for those people."

I gazed evenly into his face. I knew he knew what I meant. That when I said _looking for_ them, I meant _hunting_ them. That it would have been murder on my mind.

He didn't answer. His hand was still on mine and, incredibly, he looked into my face with a look much the same as before. Like he couldn't look away, like he didn't want to.

For a moment, I wondered incredulously if I had underestimated the power of the infatuation of a teenage boy. I was fairly certain that if McKayla had revealed she had stalked him to Port Angeles and considered murdering three people, and that she had come close to murdering him on his first day, he would have had the more appropriately horrified, severely creeped-out reaction. Then again, for McKayla to do all that, she would have to be a vampire, and every bit as outwardly appealing as I was. So maybe he wouldn't mind after all.

It was like he was literally under a spell. Would any teenage boy respond like this to a girl he liked, or was this only his own peculiar reaction?

I suspected it was the latter, but whatever the case, I knew it didn't change the way this was likely to play out. Just like a spell, he would probably be perfectly okay with all this right up until the infatuation wore off, and reality had a chance to set in—that having an obsessed, albeit beautiful vampire stalking him everywhere he went was not the dream come true he was apparently under the mistaken impression it was now.

I took a deep breath through my nose, letting the fiery scent scorch me again, as I tried to settle my suddenly strained nerves.

"Are you going to eat anything else?" I asked.

He blinked, and glanced down at the forgotten plate. "No, I'm good."

"Do you want to go home now?"

He considered briefly. "I'm not in any hurry."

I stared back at him, frustrated. Frustrated, because a part of me was dangerously close to being elated in all this, and I knew that was wrong.

I glanced down at his hand, still on mine. The back of my hands felt warm, so I knew likely his were cold as ice and numb by now. He showed no sign of caring in the slightest. Failing to pay attention to his own wellbeing, as usual.

As in all the other times, I couldn't bring myself to forcibly pull my hands away—either because I was afraid of hurting him physically or hurting him emotionally with a physical gesture that might be interpreted as rejection, I wasn't sure which. So I asked, "Can I have my hands back now?"

He abruptly pulled back as if he had been stung. He looked embarrassed. "Sure. Sorry."

I glanced at him as I drew out the money to pay the bill, bemused by his abrupt switch to shy and meek after his earlier display.

"Is it possible to go fifteen minutes without an unnecessary apology?" I wanted to know.

He considered. "Um, probably not."

The look on his face was so funny I couldn't stop the single laugh that escaped me, and I felt some of my dark mood lift. I knew I would come back and be thinking about all this again tonight, but for now, once again I was simply glad for this time together. In spite of the agony of warring conscience and selfish desires, everything felt so much more right when he was near.

The waiter returned then. "How are you do—" he began, still mentally debating whether to try slipping me his number.

I cut him off, still polite, but with an edge of impatience. "We're finished, thank you very much, that ought to cover it, no change, thanks."

I was already up even as I spoke, leaving the crisp hundred dollar bill on the table without really looking at the waiter.

Beau saw what I was doing and, looking dismayed, scrambled to his feet and tried to get his wallet out. "Um, let me—" he began, flushed. "You didn't even get anything—"

"My treat, Beau," I said, as I turned toward the door.

"But—"

I rolled my eyes. "Try not to get caught up in antiquated gender roles."

I started away, and Beau had no choice but to follow.

The waiter stared after us, mouth hanging slightly open, more confused than ever.

Apparently paying not the slightest attention to my suggestion about antiquated gender roles, Beau hurried ahead of me to get the door, then raced out to get the car door, too.

I understood what he was thinking better now than I had before. This was a date, and he was doing his best to act like it, do what a guy was supposed to do. He was awkward and clumsy about it—like he'd never done this before, which I suspected he hadn't. But he didn't look around, embarrassed, like he was afraid someone was watching. He didn't seem to care, not anymore.

 _Well, I hope you're happy_ , said a voice in the back of my mind bitterly. _You got everything you wanted. Not only does he like you, he knows the truth and he doesn't care. Congratulations._

However, for the moment I felt the gnawing guilt fade to little more than background noise. As I got into the car, he shut the door carefully behind me, then raced around to the passenger side, as if he was afraid if he didn't make it I would drive off without him. I watched his clumsy antics with a strange mixture of feelings. It made me smile, partially because it seemed so ridiculous, particularly given how out-of-character it seemed, and partially because seeing him want to go to this kind of effort for me...treating me like a normal human girl...an undeniable part of me reveled in it.

Refusing to move the car until I saw his seat belt firmly in place, I finally took off down the street, though I slowed down from my usual pace. I wanted a little extra time for this, in spite of the scent now scorching down my throat and filling my mouth with venom. And as I weaved through traffic down the relatively quiet street, I turned to him, smiling grimly.

"Now," I said, "it's your turn."

* * *

A/N: Difficult chapter, though I guess I say that about all the long conversation chapters. (Edythe's extreme mood swings strike again.) I'm never sure if the flow comes out quite natural, but sometimes the constraints also make them some of the funnest challenges.

Anyway, thanks so much for all your thoughts, and for sticking with me! I'll be working on the next chapter as always (which will probably be picking back up on the new slightly longer schedule), and hope to see you next time! C:

Posted 11/4/18


	12. Theory

A/N: Hey! Back again. To those who celebrate it, hope you all had a happy Thanksgiving.

A more normal-sized chapter this time, in spite of more conversations. Hope you enjoy anyway, and see you at the end! C:

* * *

Chapter 11: Theory

I hadn't forgotten my question, which he had evaded before—if he had made any progress on hypotheses related to what I was.

However, he still refused to answer right away, grilling me for more details about the rescue, how I had tracked him to the bookstore, how the mind-reading worked and who all had that kind of power. Of course, he was interested in the fact that he was the one exception.

"Why do you think you can't hear me?" he wanted to know. The tone of all his questions was oddly normal, like he was asking me about my technique in an art class, or my hobbies.

As always his mind continued to baffle me—and it only seemed to have grown more mysterious over the course of today's conversation. I turned to look at him in that by-now familiar way, focusing my powers to a laser point as though I might pierce through his skull like a sword piercing armor. But of course, I met only silence.

"I don't know," I said at last. I considered the many speculations I had spent so many hours ruminating upon. "Maybe your mind doesn't work the same way the rest of theirs do. Like your thoughts are on the AM frequency and I'm only get FM." I almost had to laugh at the analogy. It was oddly apt.

He frowned. "My mind doesn't work right? I'm a freak?" He looked honestly troubled.

As always, he reacted to the wrong things, and I failed to stifle a laugh. "I hear voices in my mind and you're worried that _you're_ the freak." I shook my head. "Don't worry, it's just a theory..." I paused, my eyes refocusing on him, sharpening. "Which brings us back to you."

He looked back at me warily, suddenly uncomfortable.

"I thought we were past all these evasions," I murmured, with a touch of irony. Just a minute before, he'd accused me of being the evasive one—not without cause.

His eyes dropped from mine, and he seemed to be thinking, considering. However, as his thoughtful gaze wandered over the dashboard, he froze for the briefest second. His mouth gaped in sudden horror, his heart rate speeding like a running gazelle.

I felt my hands tighten convulsively on the wheel. What had he seen?

I was certain I didn't keep anything even remotely vampiric in the car.

" _Holy crow!"_ he gasped, eyes wide with panic.

It had to be something outside. My eyes scanned either side of the road, half expecting to see a dead body on the pavement. I was surprised he could make out anything in this dark with his weak human eyes. "What's wrong?" I said urgently.

The whites of his eyes were visible all around his liquid blue irises, but his gaze wasn't directed outside. Rather, it was fixed on the dashboard.

"You're doing _one-ten!_ " His voice was high and loud in the cramped space. He spun to stare out the side window next.

I rolled my eyes, settling back in my seat. I suppose with all my experience with his inconsistency, I ought to have seen this coming. After he'd barely bat an eye when I admitted I'd had to stop myself killing him, of course it would be a little minor speed-limit breaking that would get his attention.

"Relax, Beau," I said.

He didn't relax. "Are you trying to kill us?" he demanded.

"We're not going to crash."

He took a steadying breath, then asked in a voice of forced calm, "Why are we in such a hurry, Edythe?"

I shrugged. "I always drive like this." In fact, I'd slowed down a little to give us some more time. I turned to flash a grin at him.

"Keep your eyes on the road!" he said, panicked again.

I was incredulous. "I've never even gotten a ticket." I grinned again and tapped my forehead. "Built-in radar detector."

He didn't smile. "Hands on the wheel, Edythe!"

His eyes were so wide, his face a mix of pure terror and outrage at my apparent recklessness, I knew he wasn't going to calm down until I complied with all his demands.

What a problematic phobia, driving a little fast—I'd begun to think he didn't experience fear, at least not to the proper degree that other humans did. Apparently he did—it was just all the wrong things.

I sighed deeply and eased slightly back on the accelerator. It felt like we were crawling. "Happy?"

"Almost," he said, still staring at the speedometer.

"I hate driving slow," I muttered.

He was still looking at the speedometer, before his wary eyes shifted to the road. "This is slow?" he asked skeptically.

I had a feeling this was going to continue to be a point of contention in the future.

"Enough commentary about my driving," I said abruptly. I was done letting him stall. "I'm still waiting for you to answer my question."

His gaze dropped. Uneasy again. He didn't look me in the face, and we were both quiet a long moment.

"I promise I won't laugh this time," I said, and I made my tone softer, more kind.

He shook his head. "I'm not worried about that."

I felt the same flicker of sickening disquiet, just like in the restaurant. I wished his hesitancy might be from embarrassment, as it had been before. I had told him so much already—I had admitted to the mind-reading, and he knew how close I'd come to murdering those people. He even knew I'd come close to killing him, too. But for this moment, I could still cling to the hope he didn't yet know the reason. He didn't yet know the extent of the horror... Unless he did.

The thought sent a crippling thrill of terror through my empty chest, up my throat and down to the tips of my fingers. And yet, I knew the only thing worse than if he already knew was if he knew, and didn't say it. As bad as it was, I had to know—I had to know what he was thinking.

"Then what?" I asked quietly.

He still didn't look at me. "That you'll be...upset. Unhappy."

I paused for a second. Then slowly, I took my hand off the gearshift, and extended it to him, palm up. Offering him the chance to keep me here, if that was what he wanted. A promise I wasn't going to try to run away.

He glanced up at me, surprised.

"Don't worry about me," I said softly. "I can handle it."

He looked down at my hand, then carefully wrapped his fingers around it. Just as carefully, I curled my fingers around his for a moment. His hand was soft, and warm. When I let my hand fall back to the gearshift, his hand, just as I expected, followed mine, and he laid his palm over top.

He gazed down at my hand, with total absorption. With his thumb, he carefully traced the outside edge, from the tip of my small finger down to my wrist.

The gentle caress of his thumb on my skin made my breathing accelerate. His scent in the small, heated space burned against my throat and filled my head with a fog as I waited for him to say something. However, he only continued to stare down at my hand.

"The suspense is killing me, Beau," I whispered at last.

He sighed. "I'm sorry." His voice was low in the quiet. "I don't know how to start."

I waited for him to continue, but he didn't.

I had to stop breathing—I couldn't think clearly. Not with the way his scent swirled in the current of the heater, building and strengthening the longer he was in the car, becoming its own entity, demanding my attention. And not with the way my burning emotions rose and fell like the swirling sands of a desert storm.

As I cut myself off from the alluring scent, my mind seemed to clear a little, at least for the present.

"Why don't you start at the beginning," I said. Obviously to get anything out of him I was going to have to keep prodding the conversation forward myself. This time, I worked to keep my tone less charged, distantly business-like. Perhaps he wouldn't feel so much pressure if it felt more like another ordinary conversation, as we had treated the mind-reading. "Is this something you thought up on your own, or did something make you think of it—a comic book, maybe, or a movie?"

I didn't know if he read much in the way of comic books, but clearly he was familiar with superhero lore, and as far as movies, he knew _Final Destination_.

He shook his head. "Nothing like that. But I didn't think of it on my own."

I was quiet, and I carefully allowed myself to breathe again. I could sense he was opening now, finally mentally readying himself to speak, and I needed to have air enough to respond.

"It was Saturday—down at the beach," he said at last.

He raised his eyes to mine, staring back at me to see my reaction.

I didn't know how to respond. I didn't see where this could be leading. There was certainly local gossip about us in Forks, but it had never strayed into anything too bizarre, or precise.

He continued, "I ran into an old family friend—Jules, Julie Black. Her mom, Bonnie, and Charlie have been close since before I was born."

I considered, wondering if the names should be familiar. I was sure I didn't know a Julie. I was interested by this piece of connection to his family, but I was still mystified how it was going to lead into his newest theory.

He looked at me evenly, warily. He said finally in a low voice, "Bonnie's one of the Quileute leaders."

I froze.

He knew.

 _He knew._

Panic shot through me, cold and sharp. I couldn't have breathed, even if I had wanted to. Of course, Julie Black—a descendent of Elda Black.

He went on, explaining the story from the beginning. "There was this Quileute woman on the beach—Sam something. Logan made a comment about you—trying to make fun of me. And this Sam said your family didn't come to the reservation, only it sounded like she meant something more than that. Jules seemed like she knew what the woman was talking about, so I got her alone and kept bugging her until she told me...told me the old Quileute legends."

Even though my hands were frozen on the steering wheel, as movable as solid stone, the scene seemed to play itself out in my mind in sharp detail. The cold look of one of the older Quileutes, who knew the truth, as a local from the town threw out a careless joke. The already suspicious boy instantly picking it out, and zeroing in on one of the younger, who found the old legends of the superstitious elders laughable. How ironic that in the end it was a Black descendent who inadvertently violated the treaty.

I waited for him to continue, but he didn't.

At last, my voice so low it was barely audible, I asked, "And what were those legends? What did Jules Black tell you I was?"

He started to open his mouth to answer, but then he closed it again. He glanced at me hesitantly.

"What?" I pressed, in a voice even lower than before.

"I don't want to say it," he muttered, eyes down.

I understood. I was afraid to hear it—but to have it lingering unspoken in the air, when we both knew what it was, seemed to turn it into a barrier. And I simply couldn't bear that.

"It's not my favorite word, either," I said, no longer pretending I didn't know where this was leading. I couldn't quite make myself smile, but there was just a hint of humor in my voice as I added, "Not saying it doesn't make it go away, though."

He still looked uncertain, so I said quietly, feeling irresistibly like a character from _Star Wars_ or _Harry Potter_ , "Sometimes...I think _not_ saying it makes it more powerful."

At another time, I might have had to fight not to laugh at myself for my melodramatic pretension. However, this ancient, sage-like-sounding wisdom seemed to make sense to him.

Hesitantly, he whispered, "Vampire?"

I moved for the first time. A shuddering tremor raced down my spine and my head turned sharply away as though he had struck me. The single word—the word of _my_ world, of which he wasn't supposed to be a part—seemed to hang in the air, pounding over and over in my mind like a drum.

He knew. He knew it all now. There were no more secrets—he knew the beast that I was.

A long silence filled the car, as I struggled to regain my composure. At last, in a tone of detached politeness, I said, "What did you do then?"

He blinked. "Oh—um, I did some research on the Internet."

"And that convinced you?" My tone was still carefully distant, only politely interested.

He shook his head. "No. Nothing fit. Lots of it was really stupid. But I just—"

He broke off. I waited for him to say more, but when he didn't, I turned to study his expression.

"You what?" I pressed gently.

He shrugged. "Well, I mean, it doesn't matter, right? So I just let it go."

I stared at him. Stunned. Shocked. I had known that all his reactions to me so far had been far from natural or right, and of course I knew he had known the dreaded word before deciding to get in the car with me. And yet—yet it had seemed there ought to be a limit, which we would surely reach any moment. That coming face-to-face with one of the vilest creatures of legend would have to awaken in him primal fear of some sort, even if he did his best to hide it. But now, his tone as he spoke was nonchalant, and his set features betrayed nothing but the calmest determination.

I stared at him a minute more. Before, with the speed of an alternating current, I felt all my disbelief abruptly turned to anger.

He was supposed to be responsible. That was one of the traits I had put down in my mental list. But this—there was nothing responsible about this. Even after all he had seen, even after figuring out exactly what I was, he still wasn't conscious of the real danger. Was he so hopelessly naïve? Or had living in the rainy town of Forks made it so he didn't care if lived or died?

Was that the real reason why he always seemed to be falling into danger? Because he didn't _care_ enough to stay out of it?

"Um, Edythe—" he began, his eyes flickering nervously to the road.

I cut him off. "It doesn't _matter_?" I spat, and I deliberately removed all those subtle aspects of speech that I had cultivated to perfectly imitate humans. It rang in the small space, too high, unnatural. _"It doesn't matter?"_

He looked back at me, seemingly unintimidated at my outburst. "No," he said, shrugging again. "Not to me, anyway."

"You don't care if I'm a monster?" I demanded with a snarl, glaring at him. "If I'm not _human_?"

"No," he said quietly.

I stared back at him for a second, then abruptly turned to stare out at the road again.

Ridiculous—he was ridiculous. An idiot. Absurd. Didn't he understand? Didn't he realize? He should be afraid—he should have at least _some_ instinct for self-preservation.

He eyed my face for a long minute, then sighed and turned to stare out the front windshield. "You're upset," he said in a mutter. "See, I shouldn't have said anything."

I almost laughed, but it would have been a harsh, furious sound, and instead I kept my teeth clenched together.

"No," I said, still glaring out the front window, "I'd rather know what you're thinking, even if what you're thinking is insane."

"Sorry."

I sighed deeply, and I didn't say any more for the moment.

Instead I stared out the front windshield, wondering how that could really be his response, and wondering about my response to his response. Wasn't this precisely the reaction I had craved—for him to know all my secrets, and still accept me anyway? It was a dream come true, better than I'd ever dared imagine. Wasn't it?

In this instant, the joy I had expected to feel eluded me, and as my mind churned through all my thoughts and feelings at dizzying speeds, I understood why.

This was exactly what I had wanted—for myself. But now that the moment had arrived, and I was not merely contemplating the future in a purely theoretical way, I knew for certain now that there was a significant part of me didn't really want what I wanted. Because I still knew without a doubt what his clear, decisive acceptance would mean for him in the end. He _should_ be afraid of me, he _should_ run. And for his sake a part of me—a part growing stronger all the time—wished that he would.

I felt his thumb tracing the side of my hand again, and I glanced over at him. His eyes had returned to our hands.

Gazing at his face, I felt all the familiar pangs of longing return in full force, and my well-meaning, whole-hearted desire for him to do as was best for him slipped away from me again. I didn't want him to be afraid. I wanted to talk like this to him forever and for it to never end...

"What are you thinking about now?" I asked softly, looking into his face.

His eyes flickered back up to mine, though if he was startled at my abrupt switch of tone, he didn't show it. "Um...nothing, really."

I frowned. "It drives me crazy, not knowing."

He looked away again. "I don't want to...I don't want to offend you."

I glowered, though my frustration this time could have been taken as half teasing. "Spit it out, Beau."

He shrugged. "I have lots of questions. But you don't have to answer them. I'm just curious."

He seemed to sense that my fit of fury was gone as quickly as it had come, and I didn't bother to try to maintain it. "About what?" I asked, curious myself.

He shrugged again. "How old you are."

"Seventeen," I said swiftly.

He stared back at me patiently, until I couldn't help it and a smile twitched at the corner of my lips.

"How long have you been seventeen?" he asked.

"A while," I admitted.

"Okay." He suddenly smiled wide. Happy to have gotten an answer without having to wrestle for it.

He was still acting as though this were an entirely ordinary conversation, and I could only stare back at him incredulously. I had only just reassured him, at least in a roundabout way, that he wasn't a freak, yet it occurred to me that for anyone to act so entirely normal under such circumstances may give more than adequate reason to question that assertion.

My disconcerted face did nothing to disrupt his sudden good mood, and he said, "Don't laugh—but how do you come outside in the daytime?"

I couldn't help it, I had to laugh. His research had told him some, but he didn't have all the details, at least not yet. "Myth."

In spite of my complete disregard for his request, his smile widened as he watched me.

"Burned by the sun?"

"Myth."

"Sleeping in coffins."

"Myth." I paused, staring out the front windshield as the wall of trees rushed by on either side of the road. I added quietly, "I can't sleep."

This stopped him for a minute. He stared at me. "At all?"

"Never," I whispered. My eyes drifted to meet his again.

Since coming to this new life, I had often wished I could sleep. Wished there were times I could just shut down, so that my mind could rest and refresh itself—particularly during those hellish weeks of my futile attempt to keep myself separate from him. If there weren't always the long hours of the night to suffer through, maybe I would be making better decisions now, maybe I would have been able to resist, to do the right thing for him, instead of what I was doing now. But then again, perhaps not—after all, I knew if I slept I would dream, and if I dreamed, I knew all my dreams would be of him.

I stared into his eyes, and he stared back into mine. He seemed to forget briefly about all his questions.

After a minute, my eyes flickered away, to stare out at the dark road ahead. "You haven't asked me the most important question yet."

He glanced at me, mystified. "The most important question?"

My lip curled. "Aren't you _curious_ about my diet?"

"Oh. That one." Unless he was simply a gifted actor, which I knew from experience that he wasn't, from his surprised tone it was clear he had sincerely forgotten about it.

"Yes," I said in a low voice. "That one."

He had been reluctant to say the word before, and I had assumed that that meant he knew what the word entailed. I had assumed he would be working up to this question, or at the very least thinking on it, even as he might hesitate to voice it aloud. But that it could have entirely slipped his mind made me wonder if he really had the slightest conception of what the word _vampire_ meant. The instinctual terror it ought to summon to his mind, just as if he were faced with a hunting lion, or a snarling wolf.

"Don't you want to know if I drink blood?" I asked. My voice was hard, almost accusing.

For the first time, he looked a little uncomfortable, though I couldn't tell if that was actually because of the subject of my diet, or because my tone made him ashamed to have not thought of it himself. Even when his responses were right, I was beginning to learn sometimes they were for the wrong reasons.

"Well," he began, "Jules said something about that."

"Did she now?" I said, wondering just how much this girl had told him of the legend. They were certainly in deep violation of the treaty—I supposed now we would have technically had the right to go and slaughter all the helpless villagers of the little tribe if we had felt so inclined. The old magic that protected them from our kind had not appeared since the time of Elda Black...

He nodded. "She said you didn't...hunt people. Your family wasn't supposed to be dangerous because you only hunted animals."

I found that hard to believe. "She said we weren't dangerous?" I repeated slowly.

He shook his head. "Not exactly. Jules said you weren't _supposed_ to be dangerous. But the Quileutes still didn't want you on their land, just is case."

I turned my eyes back to the road, but I wasn't really seeing it.

"So, was she right?" he asked at last. "About not hunting people?"

I could tell he was trying to keep his voice casual, like my answer didn't matter. But he was tense in his seat.

I wondered what he would do if I said Jules was mistaken. That we _did_ hunt people, like any other vampire. What if I replied, _We don't hunt on the reservation or any of the lands nearby, as per the treaty. We go...outside._ How would he react to think I was hunting in Seattle? Or Port Angeles? Would he still say _It doesn't matter_ then?

But I couldn't lie—even if I'd had any desire to.

"The Quileutes have a long memory," I said quietly at last.

He nodded, relaxing slightly.

"Don't let that make you complacent, though," I said sharply. "They're right to keep their distance from us. We are still dangerous."

He frowned. "I don't understand," he said slowly.

I continued to gaze out the front windshield. Yes, I had to remind myself—he might technically know the secret now, but he didn't know, didn't understand everything. I had told him I saved him from myself—and he remembered clearly the way I'd glared at him with murder in my eyes. But he thought that meant it was over. He didn't yet understand it was a constant ongoing danger, that every minute I was continually saving him from myself, my vicious, vampiric appetite that longed for his blood.

"We...try," I said, my eyes still staring out at the road slipping past. "We're usually very good at what we do." I hesitated. "Sometimes we make...mistakes." I added quietly, "Me, for example, allowing myself to be alone with you."

I was aware of his scent stirring in the car, trying to cloud my thoughts. My mouth was swimming in venom.

"This is a mistake?" he asked. There ought to have been a spike of fear in his voice as he understood, but instead I heard a note of something like sadness. Hurt.

"A very dangerous one," I said quietly.

Neither of us spoke for a while then. He stared out at the road, and even though he could probably tell we were going at my usual speed again, he didn't comment. It was impossible to tell what he was thinking.

Abruptly, however, the hand he had over mine tightened. He said suddenly, his voice low and intense, "Tell me more."

I didn't understand the sudden emotion in his voice and I glanced at him. "What more do you want to know?" I asked hesitantly.

"Tell me why you hunt animals instead of people," he said quickly. As though he had suddenly realized his time to ask questions was limited, and was afraid he wouldn't get them all out. His voice sounded strange—deep with some emotion that didn't match the words.

I hesitated. "I don't _want_ to be a monster," I said at last, my voice low.

"But animals aren't enough?"

I thought for a moment, trying to find a way to explain. "I can't be sure," I said at last, "but I'd compare it to living on tofu and soy milk; we call ourselves vegetarians, our little inside joke. It doesn't completely satiate the hunger—or rather thirst. But it keeps us strong enough to resist. Most of the time."

I gripped the steering wheel a little tighter, glaring out at the road. I added in a low voice, "Sometimes it's more difficult than others."

He considered. "Is it very difficult for you now?"

I sighed deeply, and as I inhaled, the scent, enhanced by the warmth from the heating vents, assaulted me again. Even as I tried not to think about it, it was a constant presence at the back of my mind—the temptation, the ravage hunger. I had beaten it back further now, since that night I had acknowledged how I felt—had it only been a week ago? But even so, even though now I had no desire to give in to it, it was not conquered. It lingered there like a shadow, a threat that could still strike at any moment, if I ever once let down my guard.

"Yes," I answered quietly.

His response ought to have been fear, but of course it wasn't.

"But you're not hungry now," he said unexpectedly. It wasn't a question.

I frowned. "Why do you think that?"

He shrugged, nonchalant. "Your eyes. I have a theory about that. Seems like the color is linked to your mood—and people are generally crabbier when they're hungry, right?"

A chuckle escaped me before I could stop it. Crabby. That was a good word for me when I was needing to hunt again. Funny, how he'd noticed that detail about my eyes, and correctly guessed the reason behind their change when no one else even noticed it. But then, he wasn't properly afraid of us like the others were.

"So everything I thought I saw—that day with the van," he said. "That all happened for real. You _caught_ the van."

His tone was full of wonder. I wondered if he'd been having more doubts about his own sanity than he'd let on. _Could_ I have convinced it was all a concussion-induced hallucination if I had pushed harder?

I supposed it hardly mattered now. And, I thought selfishly, a part of me—too large a part—was glad it hadn't turned out that way. Glad I wasn't able to convince him of my lies.

"Yes," I answered, shrugging.

"How strong are you?" he wanted to know.

I wasn't sure how to answer that one. "Strong enough."

"Like, could you lift five thousand pounds?" His eyes were bright, excited. I wondered if he was imagining me at some sort of weightlifting competition. Maybe there was a part of him that was a normal teenage boy after all.

"If I needed to," I answered hesitantly. "But I'm not much into feats of strength. They just make Eleanor competitive, and I'll never be _that_ strong."

"How strong?" he asked, fascinated.

I smiled a little, rolling my eyes, "Honestly, if she wanted to, I think she could lift a mountain over her head. But I would never say that around her, because then she would have to try." I laughed at the thought.

"Were you hunting this weekend, with, uh, Eleanor?"

"Yes," I said, then hesitated, debating whether I really wanted to say what I would say next. But tonight was a night for honesty, for no secrets, and I added, "I didn't want to leave, but it was necessary. It's a bit easier to be around you when I'm not thirsty."

His eyebrows creased. "Why didn't you want to leave?"

I hesitated. The more I said, the more he would probably begin to suspect the extent of just how much I had been stalking him. However, there was something else, too. It felt...strange, expressing the true depths of my feelings in so many words, directly to him, right here. When I'd described to him my worry when I found he wasn't with his friends, I'd downplayed my paranoia. To try to describe it felt...dangerous. Dangerous in a different way than I was to him. My frozen heart felt so fragile, so vulnerable. My self-preservative instincts told me to keep it under guard, to not allow it to ever be fully exposed.

However, the feeling that I wanted him to know me, know everything, swelled in my chest again. Even though I knew at any moment I might say something that would frighten him in a way nothing else had before, or he might suddenly come to his senses, and so run from me, how could I not trust him? He had already quietly accepted that which no one in his right mind could be expected to accept.

"It makes me...anxious...to be away from you," I said slowly.

He gazed back into my eyes, no doubt seeing the sudden intensity there.

He didn't look away as I continued, "I wasn't joking when I asked you to try not to fall in the ocean or get run over last Thursday. I was distracted all weekend, worrying about you. And after what happened tonight, I'm surprised that you did make it through a whole weekend unscathed." I paused, frowning. "Well, not totally unscathed," I amended.

He blinked. "What?"

I raised my eyebrows. "Your hands," I said pointedly.

He glanced down at his palms. "I fell," he said with a shrug.

I nodded. "That's what I thought." I smiled a little. "I suppose, being you, it could have been much worse—and that was the possibility that tormented me the entire time I was away." My smiled turned wry. "It was a very long three days. I really got on Eleanor's nerves."

He raised his eyebrows, then frowned. "Three days? Didn't you just get back today?"

I didn't understand the sudden intensity in his expression. "No, we got back Sunday."

He looked almost angry. "Then why weren't you at school?" he said, suddenly demanding.

I blinked. "Well, you asked if the sun hurt me, and it doesn't. But I can't go out in the sunlight—at least, not where anyone can see."

He was curious again. "Why?"

"I'll show you sometime," I promised rashly. A part of me knew this was a promise I could end up breaking—but if I did, it would likely be because I wasn't in his life anymore, and that could only be to his benefit.

It warred inside me still, the desperate need to be around him, to see what he was doing every moment, and the equally desperate desire to do what was best for him. Just like my equally warring desire to see him accept me, despite what I was, and the knowledge he really ought to turn now and flee, as fast and as far as he could...

He gazed back at me for a moment. "You could have told me," he said at last.

I frowned. "But I knew you were fine."

"Yeah," he said, growing agitated again, "but _I_ didn't know where _you_ were. I—"

He stopped, his eyes dropping from mine.

"What?" I asked softly, coaxingly.

His face was starting to change color, red patches blooming across his cheeks.

"It's going to sound stupid," he muttered. "But, well, it kind of freaked me out." His eyes remained fixed on the dash in front of him. "I thought you might not come back. That somehow you knew that I knew and...I was afraid you would disappear. I didn't know what I was going to do. I _had_ to see you again."

I stared back at him for a long moment. I'd already suspected...already known...his adolescent feelings. But somehow, hearing him actually say the words, it was different. It was like a declaration. And, hearing them put that way, they sounded so much like my own it was frightening. He didn't make them sound like a harmless, passing adolescent infatuation.

Elation and horror shot through me at the exact same moment, each vying for control.

He wanted me. He would choose me forever if I let him. But what was it going to cost him in the end? What would this fulfillment of my deepest fantasies do to him?

He looked up into my face, and he saw my expression. "Edythe," he said gently with concern, "are you okay?"

It was the look on his face that decided it. The kindness, the goodness, the innocence. The face of someone who didn't deserve to have his future destroyed. The horror overpowered the joy and I felt suddenly sick—sick with what I had done.

"Ah," I groaned, bowing my head. I whispered, "This is wrong."

He stared back at me, bewildered. "What did I say?"

"Don't you see, Beau?" The anguish rose in my burning throat, until I thought I would choke. "It's one thing for me to make myself miserable, but a wholly other thing for you to be so involved."

I couldn't bear to look at him anymore, at the damning evidence of the terrible crime I had committed, and I looked back toward the road, though I didn't see it. Words spilled out in a rush as the emotions rose, all spinning in a storm inside me.

"I don't want to hear that you feel that way. It's wrong. It's not safe. I'll hurt you, Beau. You'll be lucky to get out alive."

I could feel his eyes on me. "I don't care," he said quietly.

"That's a really stupid thing to say," I said harshly, my voice rising. Trying to make him angry.

He didn't react. When he spoke, his voice was just as soft and calm as before.

"Maybe, but it's true. I told you, it doesn't matter to me what you are. It's too late."

The words were quiet, a statement of fact. But they pierced through my chest like a condemnation. Too late. _Too late._ Only two possible futures—one or the other. Both setting him on a course of destruction.

Desperation clawed at me. What had I done? Had I really gone beyond the point where it was impossible to fix? No—I couldn't believe that.

"Never say that," I whispered feverishly. I went on with conviction, "It's _not_ too late. I can put things back the way they were. I _will_."

He stared out straight at the road ahead, just as I did. "I don't want things back the way they were," he murmured.

 _Too late._

I was going to hurt him, one way or another, there was no avoiding that now. When I had left Forks that first time, I should have never come back. But now it was too late. Too late to go back, when my leaving would not be an interruption to his life. I knew that leaving was still the best thing for him, the way to a better future. But I was going to hurt him, disappoint him terribly in the process.

"I'm sorry I've done this to you," I whispered. Sorry that I had interfered, closed so many doors to his future. Sorry for, instead of shielding him from pain, forcing him to share mine.

We were both quiet then, and before long we were passing into Forks.

When we saw the familiar landmarks, he finally turned to me again.

"Will I see you tomorrow?" he asked.

I hesitated. "Do you want to?" I whispered.

He answered, voice low with intensity. "More than anything else I've ever wanted."

I stared out at the road a moment, then I closed my eyes. And I felt my conviction, my will to do as was best for him rather than what I wanted, crumble.

"Then I'll be there," I said at last. My dark mood was already passing, and I added with a hint humor, "I do have a paper to turn in."

I turned, allowing myself to look into his face again. That beautiful face I just couldn't get enough of, that I knew someday I was destined to doom, one way or another.

We were at his house now. I brought the car to a stop and turned off the engine. However, he didn't get out right away. His hand was still resting on mine—it had never moved the entire way.

"Save me a seat at lunch?" he asked, not quite meeting my eyes.

I smiled, anticipation filling me at the thought. "That's easy enough."

"You promise?" he insisted.

Even though it was wrong, my smile widened at the worry in his face. "I promise."

He stared back at me for a long moment. His sky blue eyes were oddly intense, but as I watched, the intensity seemed to fade, leaving behind a hazy mist. His mouth opened slightly. Then, as though unaware of what he was doing, he leaned toward me.

I wasn't sure what he was doing, so for a moment I didn't react. Not until his face was inches from mine.

He exhaled lightly, and his warm breath hit me directly in the face.

For a moment, my mind went blank. I could imagine my eyes glazing over just as his were, but for a completely different reason.

I felt the concentrated scent fill my nose and mouth, so much more potent than I had ever known. Venom filled my mouth—I was in a fog, and though I should have been full my stomach ached with ferocious, all-consuming hunger. I heard the steady beat of his heart, the rushing flow of his blood through his veins. For just a moment the fantasies I had refused to entertain any longer ripped free from the back of my mind, and I imagined the taste of his blood in my mouth.

Too fast for a human eye to follow, I drew back hard against the door of the car, and I threw up my free hand, bringing it an inch from his face, blocking him coming any closer.

He stared back into my face for a second, then snapped from whatever it was that had a hold of him. He drew back instantly, eyes wide.

"Sorry!" he gasped, looking shocked, though I couldn't be sure if it was at me or himself.

I stared back at him for a long moment, my back still pressed up against the car door, struggling to get control. I didn't breathe.

At last, inch by inch, I slowly relaxed. The pure terror of the moment, when I had almost lost control, faded, and I slumped.

"You have to be more careful than that, Beau," I said in a dull, hollow voice.

I felt suddenly more tired than I could ever remember feeling. A deep weariness had settled over my mind, and sunk into every crevice. This was all wrong—so wrong. What did I expect? He was a teenage boy. He wanted to hold hands, and touch, and kiss like other teenage couples just discovering the magic of first love. But he couldn't even kiss me—or whatever it was he'd had in mind to do—without chancing having me succumb to a sudden overpowering urge to kill him. Eleanor was right—I was going to drive him crazy with this limited, incomplete love.

Reluctantly, I carefully removed his hand from over mine. Not even that small touch was safe. Nothing was safe.

He took his hand back and folded his arms over his chest.

"Maybe—" I began slowly, gloomily.

He cut me off before I could say anymore. "I can do better than that." He went on quickly, "Just tell me the rules, and I'll follow them. Whatever you want from me."

I sighed. He didn't even know what he was offering. What he was giving up. He was smart and responsible, and he always thought ahead, but now...now. I was the responsible one once, too—now he was just like me.

"Seriously," he said. "Tell me to do something, and I'll do it."

I glanced at him. Then again, maybe this _was_ him being responsible—if he really meant it, and he would try to follow any rules of safety I outlined. Or at least, as responsible as he could be with his mind clouded by the power of adolescent infatuation. I couldn't help but smile a little.

"All right, I've got one," I said at last.

"Yeah?" He suddenly looked worried.

"Don't go in the woods alone again."

He blinked. "How did you know that?"

I didn't answer, only smiled a little more and wordlessly touched the tip of my nose.

Again, rather than be disturbed as it became increasingly obvious I had been doing more than just following him around in my car when he went out of town, his eyes lit with the same fascination as before.

"Really? You must have an _incredible_ sense—"

I wasn't about to let him start in on more questions, and I interrupted, "Are you going to agree to what I ask or not?"

He shrugged. "Sure, that one's easy. Can I ask why?"

My eyes flickered briefly to the darkness outside the car. "I'm not always the most dangerous thing out there," I said quietly. "Let's leave it at that."

He stared back at me, then shivered. "Whatever you say."

It was time for him to go. I sighed a little to myself, then raised my eyes back to his. "I'll see you tomorrow, Beau," I said. It was technically true—I would see him tomorrow, though I would also be seeing him sooner than that.

He looked back at me another moment, then pushed open the door. "Tomorrow," he said with emphasis, trying to make my parting words into a promise. Then he turned and started to get out.

I froze, and I was suddenly hit with an overwhelming urge to keep him there. To keep him here, with me, talking just like this until sunrise and beyond.

Without knowing quite what I was doing, I leaned across the car and called softly in a low voice, "Beau?"

Automatically he turned back, ducking back inside the car, and he seemed startled to find our faces barely inches apart.

I didn't breathe in, and this time, the unexpected proximity did something different to me. As I stared into his wide blue eyes, so close to mine, for a moment my thoughts were in a fog, and I wondered if it was the same fog that had muddled his thinking a moment before. My eyes flickered for the barest fraction of a second to his lips, and I felt a strange, new hunger, different from the thirst. But, probably equally as dangerous.

I really needed to get out of here.

"Sleep well," I said softly, smiling.

He stared back at me for a second, unmoving. For a moment I couldn't even hear the sound of his heartbeat.

Then at last he moved back, half-tripping over his feet as he tried to back out and having to catch the frame to keep from falling. A quiet chuckle escaped me before I could stop it.

I watched him trip and stumble his way up to the front door, and once he was safely there, I started the engine, then slowly, reluctantly pulled out of the drive.

He paused at the doorway to watch me go.

* * *

For a while I drove around aimlessly, with no particular destination in mind, as my thoughts raced around in my mind.

All the incredible things that had happened tonight repeated themselves over and over in my thoughts. His face, the sound of his voice, the look in his eyes.

 _It doesn't matter._

For the moment, the agony of the coming future faded to the background, and I was euphoric. He knew. He knew everything and he didn't care. He didn't want me to disappear. He couldn't bear the thought of not seeing me again. He loved me, enough to subdue his instinctive fear, if he had any at all.

I knew it was wrong, but for the moment I allowed myself not to care. I embraced it. Reveled in it. I went through each memory of the night one by one, lovingly, filing each away among my core memories, most easily retrieved. I relived each and every moment, second by second.

However, as I retraced the events of the night, going backward, it was inevitable I would work my way back to the instigation of all this—a woman and two men, guns in hand, getting ready to murder an innocent passerby in cold blood. And as those memories replayed themselves in my thoughts, I felt all my joy spiral down into a blazing, black inferno of hate.

I was alone now. Beau was at home and safe. It wouldn't take long to go down there, and take care of them. Make sure they never threatened him again.

However, I forced myself to cut that thought off where it was. Beau cared about me, far more than I deserved. For me to commit the savage, brutal murders I longed to would betray his trust. If I did, then I would have to tell him the truth later, and he would be horrified... Or worse, he would say _It doesn't matter_ again. He was so good, so pure, but his love for me me could taint him. Just knowing of my acts of savagery, and accepting it, or even simply not condemning it, would make him my accomplice.

Still...

There was no question those people were dangerous, left on the loose. And if that woman ran into Beau again—not entirely unlikely, given his usual luck—no doubt she would do everything she could to eliminate him. It wasn't right to murder them as I might like to, but it also wasn't right to leave them on the street. What if they cornered a _real_ cop next time? Someone like Beau's father, Chief Swan? Someone's father, brother, friend, husband...or even wife or mother.

I turned my car toward the north, back home, a plan already forming in my mind.

My phone buzzed in my pocket, and I suddenly remembered the phone call from earlier I had missed.

I pulled it out and put it to my ear.

"Hey, Archie," I said, sighing.

"I tried to call you earlier," he said, and he sounded contrite. "Sorry, by the time I saw what was going to happen, well, you were already on your way."

"It was close," I admitted. "But it's okay, everything worked out. I know you can't catch everything."

"Thanks." I could hear the grin in his voice as he added, "Even though you would have come back and killed me if something had actually happened to him."

"Did you see that, or is it just a hunch?"

"Hunch," he said. "But my hunches are pretty good." He added, "Anyway, I'm going to keep a closer eye on that kid from now on. He needs it."

"Thanks," I said, smiling a little. "I'll be counting on that."

He paused. "I was paying more attention after that," he said, voice suddenly a little more serious. "Are you going to tell them that he knows?"

I hesitated, then sighed. "Yes, I will. Soon. But maybe not just yet."

"Don't worry, I won't say anything. I'm outside, so they can't hear me now. Do me a favor and tell Royal when I'm not around, okay?"

I grimaced at the thought. "I'll try to remember that."

The line was quiet for a minute, then I asked, "Ah, tonight..."

"He'll be fine," he answered, already knowing what I was going to ask. "Like I said, I'm keeping better watch now. I'll watch him tonight, while you're gone. It won't take you long. You want to talk to Carine now?"

"Yes," I said, my hands tightening again on the wheel.

"Just a second, I'll put her on."

He paused, then said, "Get it done quickly. Then you can go be where you want to be." I could almost picture his wink and sly grin as he added, "Stalker."

I didn't reply, but I didn't cringe at the use of the word this time. There was no use being sensitive about it, I decided. The truth was the truth.

"Course," he continued, "according to Carine, angels supposedly follow people and watch over them too. So maybe you're more like his guardian angel than a stalker."

"A vampire-angel," I said. "Now, who wouldn't feel safe with that?" However, the image made me smile.

He said, "Okay, here she is. Good luck tonight. Don't worry, it'll go fine."

A moment later I heard Carine's voice on the other end.

"Edythe?" she said, her voice calm, but a little concerned. "Is everything all right?"

I sighed. "Not exactly, Carine. I'm headed back there right now. See, I...need your help with something."

* * *

A/N: I shortened the conclusion somewhat from the original Midnight Sun. (I didn't think it was strictly necessary, as I thought the important bits could be worked in elsewhere, and these conversation chapters tend to drag on long enough without anything more.)

Anyway! Thank you all so much for all your thoughts and comments, I really appreciate the feedback. I know some of these chapters are long (not to mention being another retelling of the same story we've already seen several different ways, with Life and Death and the original Midnight Sun), so it means a lot to know so many of you have been able to enjoy it. Of the three Reimagined stories so far (New Moon, Eclipse, and this one), this one certainly has had the most constraints, but that has also made some of the challenges the most interesting.

If all goes well, the next chapter should be in four weeks, and I plan to be working on Breaking Dawn in the meantime. (I made significant progress on one of the chapters I was most dreading the editing for, and I have a plan of action for revisions on another section that was bothering me, so hopefully that will give me some momentum.)

Anyway, if you have a moment, let me know what you think so far, and hope to see you next time! C:

Posted 12/4/18


	13. Interrogations

A/N: Hey, back again! C: Hope you've all had a happy holiday, though can't believe it's almost another new year already.

Well, I'm pretty sure this is the longest chapter. Probably because it's yet another one centered on conversations. (Yes, kill me now.) I didn't see any good places to split it, so for better or for worse, you're getting it all in one chunk. (Might be some rough patches in there as a result, but as many times as I'd gone through it already, I decided to let it go and move on to the next one.)

Hope you survive making it to the other side, and still enjoy bits of it along the way. Thanks for keeping up with me all this time, and hope to see you at the end! :J

* * *

Chapter 12: Interrogations

I was in a relatively good mood the next morning.

Carine and I had taken care of the thugs—not the way I would have wanted to, but they were off the street, and none of them were dead.

We had driven around the city until I sensed their minds—then I had left Carine there to handle the rest. I didn't trust my self-control if I saw any of their faces again, and Carine agreed it was better for me to keep away than to expose myself to the temptation. Carine had crept up on them and rendered them all unconscious—she regretted the necessary violence, but consented, knowing the greater violence it would prevent—making it appear as though they had been ambushed by a rival.

Afterward, she had phoned in an anonymous tip from a nearby payphone, claiming to have witnessed the attack. All three were wanted on multiple counts of drug-trafficking, and more than one case of mysterious deaths spanning more than one state, and once the police identified them, if all went well, they would not be getting out anytime soon.

I had then returned to Forks, and of course I went straight to his house.

As I slipped through the window into his room, I felt slightly more guilty than I had the previous night. Maybe because he knew so much of the truth now it felt like we were less strangers than we had ever been, and that made it feel all the more dupicitous. However, by now I so relied on it to get through the long, sleepless nights that I didn't even consider turning around and leaving him to himself.

I wondered if we would ever get to a point where I would admit to this part of the stalking. I had to suppress a shudder at the thought of the conversation, and I decided maybe it could wait.

Still, as I sat in the rocking chair I was almost beginning to think of as my own, watching his peaceful face as he slept—I noticed he had gone to sleep with the scarf I had given him around his neck, and I felt a deep glow in my chest at the sight—I thought about what Archie had said, about being a guardian angel rather than a stalker. I knew it was just a nice way to put what I was doing, a euphemism—yet it lit a warm glow in my chest anyway.

I left his house just as the sun broke the horizon, and I headed back home for a change of clothes and to give him some privacy as he got up and went about getting ready for school. Bad enough to be a stalker without being some kind of voyeur, too.

I hadn't been home ten minutes before I was aching to see him again.

"Archie—" I began as I caught sight of him in the hallway, but he threw up a hand to stop me. "Don't worry, I already asked Royal to drive. He's acting pissed, but you know he loves the excuse to show off that car." He laughed.

My pursed lips split into a wide smile. "You're the best. I'll see you at school."

"Sure," he said, grinning. "And you can tell him feel free to borrow all the clothes he wants to."

My smile turned uncertain. I knew what Archie wanted. He wanted to meet Beau so the two of them could hurry up and become best friends. But I wasn't sure if I was ready for that yet. Not that, given what I had learned of Beau last night, he would probably mind. Next to having a vampire for a girlfriend—if he considered me that—having a vampire for a best friend was nothing.

"Oh, yeah," he said off-handedly, as his thoughts went automatically to flicking through Jessamine's future. "And do you think you could grab a couple of things for me today?"

As I drove to Beau's house in my car, I probably should have still been elated, exhilarated. However, while I had ridden the high of everything that had happened far into the night, it was inevitable the doubt would begin to creep in.

Beau had seemed sure of everything he had said. Said it didn't matter what I was, that he was afraid of me disappearing. He had obviously meant it in the moment, I didn't doubt that.

But that didn't mean someone who happened to be in a particularly romantic mood might not get carried away. Last night, he might have honestly _felt_ like he'd rather die than stay away from me. But what if he woke up this morning having come to his senses? Away from my apparent powers of hypnotism for awhile, would the terror he ought to have felt suddenly crash down on him?

I waited in the car with growing anxiety as I listened to the sound of him clump and stumble around the house. He sounded as though he were in a hurry—I glanced at the clock on the dash, and I supposed given the obscenely limited velocity of his decrepit truck, he was running late if he meant to get to school on time.

When he emerged from the house, he almost didn't see me at first. He was in a hurry, and there was a thick fog in the air I knew weak human eyes couldn't easily see through.

When he caught sight of my car, he stopped in his tracks and stared, slack-jawed in astonishment.

I had the passenger window down so he could see me. Smiling a little at his expression despite my nerves, I leaned in his direction and called, "Would you like a ride to school?"

He stared at me a second. Had he re-evaluated? Had all those things he said he hadn't cared about suddenly seemed a lot more important?

He unfroze. "Yeah, thanks."

As he climbed in, he noticed the tan jacket I had left for him there.

"What's this?" he asked, picking it up.

I shrugged. "Royal's jacket. I didn't want you to catch cold or something." In fact, half the night in his room I'd spent worrying about it, knowing he wouldn't have a jacket today. As he'd slept he had seemed unusually cold, shivering, and I'd brought a blanket from the other room for him, returning it later before he woke. I knew I could protect him from normal enemies, but illnesses and diseases were something else. The only thing I could do there was to do everything I could to try to prevent them in the first place.

He stared at it for a second, looking slightly alarmed, then he set it on the backseat. He pulled the scarf from his bag and laid it on top of the jacket.

"I'm good," he told me, thumping his fist against his chest twice. "Immune system in top form."

I'd been about to insist that he put it on, but this overly macho gesture when Beau was generally the furthest thing from macho made me laugh instead.

We drove in silence for a minute, and I saw he was watching me with an expression that was hard to interpret. What was he thinking this time?

"What, no Twenty Questions today?" I asked finally.

He looked worried. "Was that annoying last night?"

I shook my head. "Not annoying, just...confusing."

His eyebrows knitted. "What does that mean?"

It was funny, how easy it was to be honest now—it felt natural, normal. Last night had really brought down quite a few if not all of the former barriers.

Which was going to make being careful harder than ever.

"Your reactions," I explained. "I don't understand them."

He looked puzzled. "My reactions?"

"Yes, Beau," I explained patiently, glancing his way. "When someone tells you they drink blood, you're supposed to get upset. Make a cross with your fingers, throw holy water, run away screaming, that sort of thing."

"Oh." He considered. "Um...I'll do better next time?"

He looked at me hopefully, as if he thought willing obedience might win him back some points.

"By all means," I muttered sarcastically, "please work on your expressions of horror."

He gazed at me for a moment. "Horror isn't exactly how I'd describe last night," he said softly.

I let out a short breath, staring out at the road. I wondered how I could be simultaneously so delighted and so frustrated with his completely warped way of seeing the world.

After a pause, he said, "So, um, where's the rest of your family?" Though he was obviously trying to sound nonchalant, the sudden tension in his voice was unmistakable. I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye, and I wondered if he might be more wary of the concept of _vampires_ than he seemed. The thought actually made me feel a little better, even if my seeming immunity was still utterly absurd.

We were pulling into the school parking lot as I answered. "They took Royal's car." I gestured to the red convertible as I neatly took the slot beside it. "Ostentatious, isn't it?"

He stared at it, eyes wide. "If he's got _that_ , why does he ride with you?"

I shrugged. "Like I said, it's ostentatious. We _try_ to blend in."

He laughed aloud. "No offense, but you're totally failing there."

His door was already open, but he paused. "Why did Royal drive today if it's more conspicuous?" he asked.

I smiled a little. "My fault—as usual, Royal would say. Haven't you noticed, Beau? I'm breaking _all_ the rules now."

There was a threatening edge to the words, but either he didn't notice or didn't care.

I reached into the back and snatched the scarf, putting it on, then we walked together onto campus, side by side, closer than any common acquaintances. I watched him out of the corner of my eye to see if he would pull away from the almost uncomfortably close proximity. However, he seemed to work to maintain it, and several times his hand twitched in my direction, as though he wanted to reach out and take my hand as he had last night.

It was probably for the best that he didn't, but all the same, my breath sped at the thought, and a part of me wished he would.

"Why do you even have cars like that?" he asked after a moment. "If you're looking for privacy, there are plenty of used Hondas available."

I smiled a little. He was right, naturally. "It's an indulgence," I admitted. "We all like to drive fast."

"Of course," he muttered. His tone was disapproving.

 _What the hell? Seriously?_

The loud sound of Jeremy's thoughts intruded on my own. He was waiting for Beau under the edge of the cafeteria's roof, Beau's winter jacket over one arm, and as he caught sight of me, his eyes went as wide and round as saucers.

Beau saw him in the next moment, and I could see the embarrassment in his face when he took in Jeremy's expression, though he tried to keep it cool.

"Hey, Jer," he called when we neared. "Thanks for bringing that."

Jeremy was staring at me, and he continued to stare at me even as he handed over the jacket. Though he wasn't speaking, his mind was racing a mile a minute.

 _I was totally right last night. They_ did _plan to meet up. Are they really secretly dating? How long? Seriously, why would he keep something like this under wraps? I mean_ Edythe _freaking_ Cullen!

"Good morning, Jeremy," I said.

He blinked. "Er...hi." _Look at her, she's a thousand times out of his league. How did he pull it off? I'm gonna find out if it's the last thing I do._

His eyes shifted to Beau. "Guess I'll see you in Trig."

"Yeah," Beau answered, "see you then."

Jeremy walked away, but he paused to glance back at us more than once. His thoughts were still going, now dropping straight to the gutter.

As absurdly graphic scenarios of exactly what he thought Beau and I might have been doing last night played through his head, I decided it would be better to steer clear of Jeremy's thoughts as much as possible this morning, at least until Trigonometry. The last thing I needed was to add further fuel to my own imagination, which was already teetering on the edge of spiraling dangerously out of control.

My mind flickered back to that moment in the car, when he had leaned close to me...

No, I couldn't think of any kind of physical contact like that. I might have killed him last night. And yet...yet the moment that hadn't happened kept trying to complete itself in my imagination. His soft warm lips against mine, my arms around his neck...

I had to stop that.

"What are you going to tell him?" I asked, glancing Beau's way.

"Huh?" He blinked, nonplussed, then looked back at Jeremy. "Oh. What's he thinking?"

I considered. "I don't know if it's entirely ethical for me to tell you that..."

He frowned down at me. "What's not _ethical_ is for you to hoard unfair advantages to yourself."

I grinned. I couldn't argue with that. "He wants to know if we're secretly dating," I summarized. "And exactly which base you've gotten to with me."

I'd sort of half been wondering for a little while now if Beau entertained some fantasies about me the way Jeremy had when he'd liked me—inconsistent as always, I didn't mind the thought of such fantasies so much with Beau in Jeremy's place. However, it hadn't been a second before his face had turned a flaming scarlet, more red than I'd ever seen it, and I guessed either he had a more pure mind—like Allen's—or at least he had some shame.

The sudden concentrated rush of blood to his face took me off guard, and I was standing too close—close enough I could feel the heat coming off his face, and taste his blood on the air.

I looked away sharply and gritted my teeth as I felt the venom fill my mouth. My muscles tensed automatically, and I had to take a step back.

There was a long pause.

"Um," he said at last, and his voice sounded normal. "What should I say?"

I started us walking again and he came with me. After a moment I chanced looking up at him again, and breathed a slight sigh of relief when I saw his skin was back to its usual pale hue.

"That's a good question," I said, grinning. "I can't _wait_ to hear what you come up with." After all, even leaving out the vampires and druggies with guns, he had to realize by now I was completely obsessed with him. There had to be a good story he could weave out of that which would impress Jeremy. Or, I wouldn't be totally opposed to hearing him make something up about the bases. That would be entertaining.

He looked at me, aghast. " _Edythe..."_

We were in front of his English class now. I came to a stop, and he followed suit a moment later, swinging around to face me with wide, chagrined eyes.

As I stared into his face, I found that wide-eyed, deer-in-the-headlights look strangely endearing. Again, euphoria rose up in my throat, so overpowering I thought I might choke. It was hard to believe this was really happening.

I saw a stray hair had fallen down into his forehead, stuck there by the mist. I hesitated a second, then reached up and quickly brushed it back.

"See you at lunch," I breathed, then turned and quickly sped back toward my own class. I vaguely heard the shocked and speculative thoughts of witnesses swirl around me, but I barely heard them. Elation was rising inside me like a physical force. It was hard to breathe, hard to think—hard to keep walking at a normal, human pace, when all I wanted was to break into a run, and race from one side of the world and back.

I wrapped the scarf more securely around my neck when I got to class. I pulled the material up over my nose and closed my eyes, breathing deeply, letting the scent burn my nose and throat. I would let myself get desensitized to it now, and it would be easier to ignore later, when we were together again at lunch.

It was a good thing teachers no longer bothered to call on me—once again today I was in my classes merely in body, and my mind couldn't have been further away.

In English, McKayla was waiting in her usual seat for him to get there. She was radiating gloom and frustration. In spite of her decision to go with Jeremy, hearing the story about me and Beau had incited in her a jealous resentment she couldn't quite curb.

She was a little cooler to Beau than usual, her tone carefully polite, distant. However, it didn't take her long to work up to the question she wanted to ask, regarding the gossip she'd already heard from Jeremy.

" _Did you have, like, plans before you went? I mean, Jeremy thought you might have, and I wondered—why even go through the charade, you know?"_

Her thoughts were caustic. _I bet it was all her idea. Playing at keeping it a secret. What, does she think it's funny? Or Beau's just not good enough for her, and she doesn't want anyone to know? The stuck up, sociopathic little—_

" _No, no,"_ Beau said quickly. _"I was totally planning on the movie. I didn't expect that...I would get lost and...stuff."_

He wasn't a particularly good liar, and even though it wasn't technically lie, this version of the story was severely truncated, and his tone was off.

Of course, McKayla picked up on it.

 _He is totally covering for her. 'And stuff'? What did they really do last night? I bet Jeremy's right, I bet she seduced him, dragged him out to a seedy hotel. She's got him completely under her spell, the witch. I wish she would go play her twisted little games somewhere else, Beau's just too nice a guy to let himself get suckerpunched like this. Ugh, I can't_ stand _her!_

McKayla was getting herself worked up, and she looked impatiently at the clock.

" _That was really cool that you went out with Jeremy on Monday,"_ Beau said, not-so-subtly trying to turn the conversation elsewhere. " _He said it was great."_

This distracted McKayla from her internal rant. _"He did?"_ she asked, ears pink, eyes on her nails.

" _Yeah."_ He paused, then added in a low, conspiratorial voice, _"Remember, I didn't tell you anything. Like, I totally didn't tell you that he thinks you're the coolest girl he's ever known."_

McKayla couldn't suppress her pleasure. _Wow, did he really say that? I thought it didn't go that well, honestly...seemed like he was talking more to that long-legged waitress than to me. But maybe he was just shy..._

Beau's strategy worked, and McKayla was distracted for the moment, long enough that the teacher started class, ending the conversation.

However, it wasn't long before McKayla's thoughts turned back to me, and she was quietly seething again, now upset and furious at the thought of Beau and I at the dance together.

McKayla was worried about Beau getting hurt—like Jeremy, it didn't enter her mind I could honestly be serious. However, I noticed that she also seemed to be vaguely aware that when I did inevitably dump him, he would probably be depressed and in need of support—an opportunity. She pictured me as I said, with an exaggerated look of superiority and disdain, _'Yeah, I think it's time we broke up. Sorry, this is getting boring.'_

That made me laugh aloud, causing Roe Sawyer next to me to jump and scoot her chair a little further away, eying me warily.

McKayla followed this with an image of herself, ever the loyal friend, consoling a heartbroken Beau, who suddenly realized how much a better a nice, understanding, down-to-earth girl was compared to a high-maintenance, flighty prima donna.

By the end of class, McKayla had completely made up her mind to be a good friend no matter what, even go out of her way to make things seem all cool. She wouldn't let his association with me make him an outcast.

As they were leaving, McKayla began, _"So."_

" _Yeah?"_ he answered.

" _I was just curious if, you know, we were going to see you at the dance after all? Like, you could totally hang with our group, if you wanted to."_

 _Friends, no matter what_ , she thought. _And I want to see how she talks to him. Does she pretend to be nice? Or does she just talk down to him all the time and he puts up with it? Whenever I see them, it always looks like she's laughing at him..._

" _The dance?"_ he answered, looking startled. _"No. No, I'm still going to Seattle."_

McKayla blinked. She'd already resigned herself to seeing Beau at the dance with me, but now she felt a flare of hope. _She didn't ask him? Or did he really have plans in Seattle and have to turn her down, too? Or maybe she doesn't intend for it to last that long. Maybe she's already getting tired of the game._

" _Okay,"_ she said. _"Oh well."_ She added slyly, _"Maybe we can get a group thing together for prom. Share a limo."_

She watched Beau's face carefully, waiting for his reaction.

Beau stopped in mid-step. _"Uh, I wasn't really planning on prom..."_

 _Oh, gosh, I knew it,_ she thought, unable to suppress a laugh. _"Really? Shocking! You might want to mention it to Taylor, though. She says you're taking her."_

At the same time, memories of the prom conversation replayed in McKayla's mind, along with later details of the bargain dress deal Taylor had bragged about getting for it. McKayla had been skeptical at the time—she was fully aware that Beau avoided Taylor and her constant apologies about the van incident like the plague, and after Beau's vehemence that he 'didn't do dances,' she doubted he would break that for Taylor. All the same, she was happy to see it confirmed, and she burst out laughing at Beau's horrified expression.

" _That's what I thought,"_ she said.

Beau recovered enough to assert hopefully that Taylor was probably joking, and McKayla went into more detail, about how Jeremy and Logan had been trying to make plans, but Taylor had opted out, claiming to already have plans with Beau.

" _That's why Logan's being so...you know...about you,"_ she said. _"He has a thing for Taylor. I figured you deserved a heads-up. After all, you broke the man code for me."_

She recalled a few flickers of memory regarding Logan, particularly his fondness for referring to Beau as _Beaufort_ when Beau wasn't around, and doing reenactments of the near-fainting incident in Biology. McKayla had done her best to shut this down, but she'd never had a lot of influence over Logan.

Logan Mallory. Although he was technically a member of Beau's usual friend group, because he seemed to have so little to do with Beau himself I'd never paid much attention to him. But I would certainly be paying more attention in future. Beau would probably consider killing him a tad extreme, insufferable bully though he was, but if he continued in his behind-the-scenes harassment, he would certainly suffer for it.

Beau was staring back at McKayla in something like panic. _"What am I supposed to do?"_

McKayla snorted. " _Tell her you're not taking her." Obviously._

Beau did not look satisfied with this advice. _"I can't just..."_ he floundered. " _What would I even say?"_

McKayla had to stifle another laugh. _Look at his face. He's going red. I can't picture him going to Taylor and straightening it all out, he's way too shy. I guess even Taylor can be smart once in a while, I bet she was counting on this. I almost wouldn't mind seeing him take her to the prom, it would be hilarious. He'd probably hate every minute. And better Taylor than Edythe Cullen..._

" _Man up, Beau,"_ McKayla advised. _"Or rent a tux. Your choice."_

It was rare that McKayla and I were in sync on anything, but there was some amusement to be derived from this situation, in spite of the obvious distress it caused Beau. I would have to tip him off about Taylor already having the dress, he might want to factor that into his plan of action.

Beau seemed obviously distracted in his government class, and I watched him through the teacher's eyes. At the same time, however, I occasionally checked in on Jeremy—in between imagining the various steamy scenarios between Beau and me, sometimes substituting Beau with himself, he was refining his strategy for prying the details from Beau. Not that he expected to have much trouble—who wouldn't want to brag about a night with _Edythe Cullen_?

I was almost as impatient for Trigonometry as Jeremy. I really didn't know how Beau would respond in this kind of situation. He obviously didn't like it and was embarrassed, but he didn't like conflict or being badgered. I wondered if he would make something up just to get Jeremy to leave him alone.

In between checking on Jeremy, I also found myself searching out Allen's familiar mind, but for a different reason. I'd had it in mind for a little while now to do something for him. Get him something he wanted, as an anonymous thank-you for simply being a nice person and a good friend to Beau. And, though he wasn't aware of it, being by far my least irritating spy glass when it came to following Beau's day-to-day activities.

However, I was surprised to find this was more difficult than I expected. He had a calm mind, content, and didn't seem to want anything in particular that I could find. He was a relatively good student, always responsibly took notes and paid attention in class. He didn't seem to dislike anyone. He was excessively shy and didn't like oral presentations—but I didn't see how I could help him much there.

Those times his mind did drift away from his studies, he was usually thinking about his little twin sisters. From his memories of them I could tell that they adored him. There weren't many older brothers who would sit down and patiently play dolls for hours at a time, or brought home funny trinkets he thought would make them smile out of his own allowance, or planned out trips to the nearby beaches or parks.

I would have to continue to keep tabs on Allen. Something was bound to turn up eventually.

Finally, Trigonometry arrived, and I barely saw my surroundings as I settled into my desk in English, all my concentration zeroed in on Jeremy. Beau walked into his classroom just a minute or so before the bell rang. His eyes flickered to another empty desk a few rows away, as though considering taking it, before he squared his shoulders and reluctantly approached the available seat next to Jeremy.

The teacher wasn't in the room yet—fortunately, for both Jeremy and me.

 _Look at him,_ thought Jeremy as Beau lowered himself into chair with obvious deliberation. _He looks tense. Did he see Edythe Cullen again between classes? Or does he look like that because he_ didn't _see her?_

As usual, Jeremy's conjectures were far off the mark. Beau was on edge because he knew what Jeremy was going to ask, and perhaps even more so knowing I would be listening to every word. I wondered if maybe I shouldn't have tipped him off. However, I was definitely planning to bring it up to him later, and it seemed more fair he should know beforehand.

Jeremy wasted no time. " _Dang, son,"_ he said in a low voice, a wide grin spreading across his face. _"Who knew you had that kind of game?"_

Beau rolled his eyes. _"I have no game."_

Jeremy's grin widened. _Oh, so you're going to play it like that, huh? "Please._ Edythe Cullen. _C'mon. How did you swing that?"_

" _I didn't do anything."_

" _How long has this been happening?"_ Jeremy asked eagerly. _"Is it some kind of secret? Like, she doesn't want her family to know? Is that why you pretended you were going to the movie with us?" Come on you dork, stop trying to play it so cool._

" _I wasn't pretending anything. I had no idea she was in Port Angeles last night. She was the last person I expected to see."_

Looking at Beau's face, it was obvious to Jeremy he was telling the truth. Jeremy sank in disappointment.

" _Have you ever been out with her before last night?"_

" _Never."_

" _Huh. Just a total coincidence?"_

" _I guess."_

Jeremy immediately picked up on the off-tone. _There is totally more to this story than he's saying,_ he thought, _and I'm gonna find out what it is. Time to start playing hard ball._

" _Because, you know,"_ he said, _"it's not a secret that you've been, like, obsessed with her since you got here."_

Not a secret. That was a bit of a stretch—it was certainly what Jeremy had suspected all along, and later Allen and McKayla, but if, as he seemed to imply, _everyone_ knew about Beau's apparent obsession, I was reasonably certain I, as the resident mind-reader, would have been aware of it. Jeremy's suspicions had been on rather scanty evidence—a few scattered looks at my table, and his own prior massive crush on me.

However, from the look that crossed Beau's face, it was immediately obvious to both Jeremy and I that he had hit the nail on the head.

" _It's not?"_ Beau said, looking dismayed.

Jeremy grinned with satisfaction. _"So, I have to wonder how you turned that around. Do you have a genie in a lamp? Did you find some blackmail on her? Or did you trade your soul to the devil or something?"_

Jeremy was determined to squeeze something out. Belittling Beau's skill in the conquest and forcing him to defend himself seemed a good start.

Beau didn't take the bait. _"Whatever, man."_

Jeremy kept pushing. " _Exactly how much did you get in the bargain? Bet it was a pretty wild night, eh?"_

Beau was starting to look peeved, but he tried not to show it. _"It was an early night,"_ he said. _"Home by eight."_

" _Are you serious?"_ Jeremy demanded, not wanting to believe it, but fairly certain by now he could tell when Beau was lying, and pretty sure he wasn't now.

" _It was just dinner and a ride home, Jeremy,"_ he said.

Jeremy hesitated, then with a remaining spark of hope said slyly, _"What about this morning, though? You were still with her."_

Beau spun on him, finally losing some of his indifference. _"Still?"_ he sputtered. _"No! What—you thought she was with me all night?"_

" _She wasn't?"_ Jeremy asked, frowning.

" _No."_

" _But you were in her car—"_ he tried to argue.

" _She picked me up for school this morning."_

" _Why?"_ Jeremy asked. _Seriously? This is so random._

" _I have no idea. She offered me a ride. I wasn't going to say no."_

" _And that's it?"_

Beau didn't answer, only shrugged his shoulders.

 _Come on,_ Jeremy thought. _You can't be serious. What am I supposed to do with that?_

" _Really? Please tell me you at least made out with her—anything."_

Beau glared, openly annoyed now. _"It's not like that."_

Jeremy's thoughts were colored with disgust. _What's that supposed to mean? They're not dating after all? La—ame._ Aloud, he said, _"That is, hands down, the most disappointing story I've ever heard in my entire life. I take back everything I said about your game. Obviously, it's just some pity thing."_

Jeremy's thoughts continued with contempt. _You know, I bet that's it. I bet he begged her to let him take her out once. And she just couldn't say no. I mean, he does kind of give off that helpless vibe sometimes. Guess it makes sense he wouldn't want to brag about that._

" _Yeah, probably,"_ Beau answered, tone off-handed.

" _Maybe I should try to look more pathetic,"_ Jeremy added, fantasies already blossoming in his head. _"If that's what Edythe is into." Yeah, you're not special. She'd probably take out any guy she felt sorry for._

" _Go for it,"_ Beau said indifferently.

" _It won't take her long to get bored with you, I bet,"_ Jeremy needled, annoyed at the lack of response. _Yeah, you'll see._ _You should have tried to make more of it when you had the chance._

For the first time, Beau's even, unconcerned expression flickered. His eyes dropped.

Jeremy grinned broadly, satisfied at having scored a hit.

" _Yeah,"_ Beau said in a low, defeated voice. _"I'm sure you're right."_

The teacher showed up to class then, and the smattering of talk around the room started to die down.

" _You know what, though?"_ Jeremy added under his breath. _"I think I'd rather be with a normal girl."_

Now that he'd finally gotten under Beau's armor, he was feeling generous. His tone was understanding. Beau should just enjoy this while it lasted, but when it came to an end, that wasn't anything to worry about. A normal girl was better in the long run anyway.

I wasn't expecting such a bit of wisdom from Jeremy of all people. I also didn't expect the words to cut me like they did. Of course, I already knew that—that a normal girl would be far better for Beau in the long run, and I was no more than a fantasy who would disappoint him in the end. But somehow, hearing it said aloud by someone else made it real in an entirely different way.

Jeremy was looking at the front of the room, so I didn't see Beau's responding expression. But a moment later, Beau, his voice was unusually cold, replied, _"That's probably for the best. Keep your expectations low."_

Jeremy blinked, startled, but when he looked at Beau, Beau's eyes were focused up on the teacher.

Jeremy's face settled into a resentful scowl. _Oh, I get it. You think you're some kind of romantic, huh? Well, you'll see. When she drops you like yesterday's trash, you won't be feeling so high and mighty then. Guys have to stick together. But go ahead, figure that out the hard way. See if I care._

Jeremy's acidic thoughts likely would have continued, except that the teacher called on him just then and he had to fumble to try to find the answer. However, by the end of class his internal grumblings against Beau had resumed in full force, and he didn't bother to wait for Beau as he usually did as he headed out to the next one. I tried to watch Beau through the eyes of other students, and though I couldn't be sure, I thought he didn't look like he missed the company.

Meanwhile, Beau's conversation with Jeremy gave me a lot to think over. Overall, I supposed Beau had said little that ought to have come as a real surprise—as much as I might have enjoyed a little embellishment, he had already proven time and again he didn't care about showing off. And when someone tried to pick a fight with him through insults or derision, he had always just taken it quietly rather than feel the need to defend a bruised ego.

But that part near the end kept going through my mind. _Obviously, it's just some pity thing._ Irritating a notion as it was, it made some sense that Jeremy's small, narrow mind might arrive at that conclusion. But did Beau really think that? I had been fairly certain I had made my feelings abundantly—almost embarrassingly, painfully—clear the previous night. I wondered how he could have possibly come away with that impression. Perhaps I hadn't come out and said the precise words, but hadn't it been obvious in the subtext of everything I said? Did? If I had any pity for him at all I would stay away from him.

And did he really think I would inevitably be getting bored soon?

I brooded the rest of the class over his cryptic words and completely illogical expressions, impatient for lunch to come so I could confront him. I was confident I would get more answers than Jeremy—I had hypnotism by dimples on my side.

In the fourth hour, Gym was even more of a trial than usual—we all hated Gym, especially Eleanor, who hated throwing games on purpose. But as I lethargically tapped the birdie with my badminton racket, and Archie, my teammate, stared at the wall in indescribable boredom, time seemed to crawl by with particular slowness.

Considering Logan Mallory was on the opposing team, I decided to try to pass some of the time imagining appropriate retributions I might inflict on him, simply for his unforgivable attitude toward Beau.

He eventually noticed my intense stare from across the court, and he immediately glanced away, unnerved. However, he did his best to shake it off.

 _You're imagining things._ _Probably thinking about something else. The Cullens are too good to pay anyone any special attention—except for the amazingly talentless Beau Swan, of course._

Thinking of Beau triggered a whole line of sulfuric thoughts, including a broad array of plans to interfere with Beau's apparent plans with Taylor, which he had clearly been ruminating over for some time. He was also considering ways he might make sure to send anything he might have with me down in flames—even though Logan wasn't particularly interested in me, mainly because he already knew I wasn't interested in him, he found the idea of someone so obviously beneath him in looks and simple coolness going with someone of a stratospherically higher social status personally offensive.

As Logan's thoughts about Beau became progressively more scornful and just plain nasty, my plans to deal with him became progressively more like something out of the Dark Ages. At last, Archie tilted his head subtly toward me and rolled his eyes.

 _You know, he's planning to be a model. He'll probably want his thumbs for that. And his arms._ Archie hadn't had any actual visions about what I would do to Logan—yet—but it seemed he had learned to read my expressions well enough to hazard a fairly accurate guess.

I shrugged, as I casually tapped the birdie and it sailed over the net, and Logan swung hard for it and missed. Too low for Logan to hear, I muttered back, "Not if he's modeling prosthetics."

Archie wordlessly shook his head, then, between another languid hit of the birdie, he mimed putting me in a straight jacket.

We were all more than happy when Coach Clapp called the games and sent us out early. It was a stroke of good fortune she'd chosen today to skip breakfast as part of a new diet she was trying, but by now her will had weakened, and she was ready to skip out and get a large lunch at her favorite burger joint—she'd start the diet over tomorrow.

I could barely keep myself from skipping to the math building. I would be able to meet him as he got out of class.

 _Have a good time,_ Archie called after me as he headed off to meet up with Jessamine for lunch. _Say hi to Beau my man for me, won't you? He's going to ask you about me._

My jaw tightened slightly. Little brothers were expected to be annoying at the best of times, but sometimes I forgot how precognition could make them doubly so.

 _FYI,_ he added, _it's going to be sunny on both sides of the sound this weekend. Might want to rearrange your plans._

I considered that as I walked. Before the events of yesterday, this would have been a crushing disappointment. To be forced to cancel and be denied my ready excuse to be with him. But now that he knew everything, he might be open to something else...I would have to think on it some more later. When I was away from him again, and had tedious time and thinking space I needed to fill.

I leaned against the wall by the door, waiting. I was close enough I could hear Jeremy's voice through the bricks as well as his thoughts—he had cooled down since the last class, but a hint of accusation still leaked into his tone, and his thoughts were still full of scorn.

"You're not sitting with us at lunch today, are you?" he asked. _Course he's not. Looks like he can't wait to get out the door. He has it so bad it's pathetic. Not even a shred of dignity._

"Um, not sure," Beau answered, and he really did sound uncertain. Apparently my promise to save him a seat at lunch the previous night and my parting _See you at lunch_ this morning had not been clear enough. Or did he really trust me so little he didn't even expect me to keep my word on something as inconsequential as that? After all, if he thought I was going to get bored any second and run off...

Jeremy was annoyed at this. _If you're going to sit with her, just say it. Go ahead, ditch us, but don't expect to just come running right back when she cuts you loose. You want back in, you'll have to crawl, you'll have to beg._

In spite of Beau's uncertainty where he would be sitting, Jeremy turned and without another word strode out, fuming to himself. However, the moment he passed the door frame, his eyes fell on me, standing there by the door.

He spoke his thoughts out loud.

"Seriously, _what the hell."_ His voice carried above the noise, so loud several heads turned.

He stalked off down the hall, and I watched him go for a second. I might have been concerned, Beau having falling outs with his friends over me. But Jeremy really wasn't all that much of a friend—he talked about solidarity between guys, but in truth he would have stabbed Beau in the back where I was concerned if he had half the chance.

Besides, the scenario that Jeremy projected with such certainty—that I would lose interest and dump him, and Beau would have to grovel at Jeremy's feet to be re-accepted into the group—was an impossibility anyway. When it came down to it, he didn't need Jeremy. He didn't need anyone who didn't contribute meaningfully to his happiness, not as far as I was concerned.

Many people came hurriedly to the door, to see what had incited Jeremy's outburst. As each of them saw me, one by one they glanced back at Beau before hurrying on to lunch. They were all in no doubt why I was here.

When Beau finally came to the door, he peeked around apprehensively. I wondered what he was expecting to see.

However, as he saw me, his face lit up.

"Hello, Beau," I said. I felt like beaming back, but I was aware of a few curious eyes hanging back to watch us, to determine if the rumors were true, and I didn't want to scare anyone. Or put them under hypnotism.

"Hi," he said.

"Hungry?" I asked.

"Sure."

By then our audience had begun to disperse, eager to get to lunch. They had better things to do than listen to our perfectly ordinary, dull conversation.

As we turned toward the cafeteria ourselves, I shifted my bag slightly and he noticed it.

"Hey, let me get that for you," he said, stretching out an arm.

I knew I shouldn't tease him, but he of all people should know how ludicrous the offer was, and as I looked up at him, I caked on the weak and helpless vibe. "Does it look too heavy for me?" I asked, in a slightly higher, twittering girlish voice.

He looked uncertain. "Well, I mean..."

"Sure," I said, shifting my shoulder so the bag slid down my arm, holding it out with my pinkie finger. My bag was always fairly heavy, but it was heavier than usual, thanks to the couple of extra textbooks Archie had inexplicably asked me to grab for him.

"Er, thanks," he said, a second before I let go of the bag and let it fall into his hands.

He half staggered and grunted under the weight, but then wordlessly hefted it over his free shoulder. He glanced at me.

"Do you always bring your own cinder blocks to school?"

I laughed. "Archie asked me to grab a few things for him this morning."

"Is Archie your favorite brother?" he wanted to know.

I suddenly remembered what Archie had said about how Beau was going to ask about him, and I wondered if he had asked me to bring the things solely to spark this conversation. He had been concentrating on Jessamine's future when he asked me, like he always did when he was trying to hide his thoughts...

 _Archie one, Edythe zero,_ I mentally conceded. I'd have to be more careful next time.

I evaded the question and said instead, "It's not nice to have favorites."

"Only child," he answered with a bit of a smile. "I'm everyone's favorite."

"It shows," I muttered. I paused, debating whether to sidetrack the conversation onto something else. However, Archie won again—I couldn't resist asking how his mind worked, where his unexpected conclusions came from. "Anyway, why do you think that?"

He tried to shrug, but couldn't quite manage it under the weight of my bag. I really shouldn't let him carry it. He could hurt himself. I'd read more than one article in several medical journals on the correlation of carrying heavy backpacks in school to chronic back problems later in life.

"Seems like you talk about him the most easily," he said.

I didn't answer. He said it so casually, but I was surprised he had picked up on that.

In the cafeteria, I proceeded directly to the food line. Remembering how little he had eaten on the last day we had sat together, I was determined to remedy that. He was really far too thin to be healthy, I suspected from skipping too many meals.

I didn't realize Beau had turned his eyes to look toward the corner where my family usually sat until I heard Archie's thoughts. While Beau was gazing toward them, a thoughtful, speculative expression on his face, Archie glanced up and met his eyes. He smiled widely, and it only got bigger as Beau smiled back. Then Beau glanced down at me, as if to see my reaction.

My mouth pressed into a thin line as I focused on Archie.

 _Did you see that, Edy?_ he thought. _He wants to meet me, too. It's only a matter of time, you know._

My mouth pressed thinner, and I glared at him.

His smile widened, and his bright teeth flashed at me across the room. _You're just delaying the inevitable. Come on, why not today? Let me just meet him at least._

I raised my eyebrows, my lips curling back from my own teeth, but it was not a smile.

Archie rolled his eyes, putting up his hands. _Fine, you win. For now. But remember, it's coming, whether you like it or not._

It was our turn in line and I took a tray. I realized I had no idea what Beau liked—yet—so I just reached for one of everything.

I noticed Beau had been watching the two of us closely, and I sighed a little, giving in.

"I'm pretty close with all of my family, but Archie and I do have the most in common." I added, "Some days he's really annoying, though."

 _It's what I do best,_ he thought, and his shoulders shook with laughter. _You know it's just because you're my favorite sister._

Beau was back to watching Archie and me curiously.

We reached the end of the food line, and the server rang us up.

"That'll be twenty-four thirty-three," she said.

This seemed to get Beau's attention. "What?" When he saw the tray, his eyes turned round.

I could feel the objection coming on, so I quickly paid and strode off for our table.

"Hey," he said as he caught up, frowning. "I can't eat all that."

"Half is for me of course."

"Really."

I was already sitting, the tray pushed to the center of the table. "Take whatever you want."

He dropped our bags to the floor, mine hitting the linoleum with a heavy _clunk_ like a sack of bricks. I was going to have to learn how to travel lighter from now on.

The both of us sat down.

"I'm curious," he said in a low voice, too low for our closest neighbors—a group of seniors sitting at the other end of the long table—to hear us. "What would you do if someone dared you to eat food?"

Although no humans could have heard us, it was a different story for immortal ears, if they were listening. Perhaps I should have told Archie to warn them ahead of time. Oh well.

"You're always curious," I said.

Wrinkling my nose I reached forward and grabbed a piece of something off the plate, putting it in my mouth. Pizza—though if I hadn't seen what it was, I wouldn't have been able to tell. It was slimy and repulsive as any other human food. I forced myself to swallow, and it slid slowly and uncomfortably down my throat. I would have to choke it back up later.

He looked at me, shocked, though just a little impressed.

"If someone dared you to eat dirt, you could, couldn't you?" I asked.

He grinned a little. "I did once...on a dare. It wasn't so bad."

I shook my head. "Somehow, I'm not surprised." I looked back up. "Here." I pushed the tray further toward him, offering him the slice of pizza.

He took it obediently, taking a bite and chewing slowly. I watched him—as always. His eyes were, at the moment, on the pizza. I wasn't sure which I preferred, when he was looking away, and I was free to study his every feature, or when he was looking back, into my eyes...

 _Look at that—seriously? She's leaning toward him—look at how she's staring at him. She looks totally into him. And he's just sitting there, munching pizza like a dork. Don't tell me—she's been the one trying to get him to move things along and he's beating around the bush. Is he an idiot?_

My gaze flickered once toward Jeremy, and the second our eyes met, he turned away quickly. I couldn't help but laugh.

Beau swallowed the bit of pizza. "What?" he said, bewildered.

I was getting used to automatically answering his questions, whatever the ethical implications. However, I did enough editing it didn't seem too wrong, and what I said seemed easy enough to have guessed anyway.

"You've got Jeremy _so_ confused," I said, grinning.

He relaxed at this, instantly dismissive. "Tough."

I smiled. "He really let his mind run wild when he saw you get out of my car." That was an understatement.

He shrugged, taking another bite of pizza.

I stared at him for a moment, Jeremy reminding me again of that conversation in Trigonometry. How I felt must be obvious, if even someone as dense and self-absorbed as Jeremy was picking up on it. So why did _he_ always seem so uncertain?

"Do you truly agree with him?" I asked suddenly.

I should have waited for him to be done chewing. He tried to swallow quickly, in a hurry to reply, and nearly choked. I half rose, alarmed—although I had learned the Heimlich maneuver in theory, I'd never performed it in practice on an actual human—but fortunately he put up a hand to hold me back while he swallowed hard.

"I'm fine," he said when he could speak again. Then, remembering my question, and the low intensity in my voice, he asked slowly, "Agree with him about what?"

"Why I'm here with you," I said quietly.

He considered for a long moment. A touch of color crept up his face. At last, he shook his head.

"I'm not sure what you mean."

I wasn't sure if he really meant that, or if he just wanted to avoid the question.

" _Obviously, it's just some pity thing?"_ I repeated. I could feel my irritation rising again. Surely he couldn't possibly really think that. He had just been trying to appease Jeremy. Maybe he was a better actor than I'd given him credit for.

I expected him to look chagrined or embarrassed to be caught out, but he only shrugged. "It's as good an explanation as any."

"And I'll be getting bored soon, will I?" I tried to keep my face and voice calm, but the anger was bleeding through, and my eyes narrowed.

At this a flicker of pain shot across his face, but he shrugged again, trying to look indifferent.

I stared at him, wondering how on earth he could be thinking this way. After everything yesterday. Wasn't it obvious how I felt? I didn't see any need to go comparing our feelings, but if it came to that—did he really think the emotions produced by his mere seventeen years of existence could come anywhere close to the all-consuming, soul-crushing love of a century-old immortal? Perhaps it arose out of some warped form of humility, but I could only perceive his assumptions as an insult.

"Beau, you're being ridiculous again," I said coldly.

His eyes were on the table. "Am I?"

Though he tried to sound offhand, his tone was so dejected that I relented a little, half smiling, half frowning.

"There are several things I am currently worried about," I said. "Boredom is not one of them."

I stared back at him for a minute, and he looked back at me. "Don't you believe me?" I asked softly. My eyes were intense—it had to be obvious. How I couldn't look away from him. How I studied his every feature, hung on his every word, could think about nothing else—it felt as though my eyes could hide nothing from him.

"Um, sure, I guess. If you say so."

My frustration was nearing a crescendo. What was he thinking? Did he really think Jeremy was right about me? Did he think I did this all the time—stalk human males wherever they went, place myself in their power by revealing all my deepest secrets? Deep down, did he look at me in much the same light as McKayla did—like I was just jerking him around, looking for a fun time, and would cut him loose the instant something more interesting came along?

"Well, that was an overwhelming affirmative," I said, my voice cutting.

He wasn't intimidated. He took another bite of pizza, watching me thoughtfully, and I couldn't begin to guess his thoughts, though I concentrated again, trying to force my way inside, as I had done a thousand times before.

I waited, hardly able to stand it, for him to finish chewing so he would speak. But when he swallowed, he took another bite without saying anything.

"I truly loath it when you do that," I said, glowering at him across the table.

He finished chewing, then swallowed with more care than usual. He raised his eyebrows at me. "What? Not tell you every single stupid thought that passes through my head?"

It was obviously a rhetorical question, and I almost smiled, but I kept my mask of annoyance firmly in place. "Precisely."

He sighed. "I don't know what to say. Do I think you'll get bored with me? Yeah, I do. I honestly don't know why you're still here. But I was trying _not_ to say that out loud, because I didn't want to point something out that you might not have thought of yet."

So, he didn't think my intent malicious, it seemed. He believed that I meant what I was saying, at least for now. But he expected I would lose interest eventually—inevitably.

It was so ridiculous that I couldn't stop the smile this time. If only he could see inside _my_ head—understand. Would he be gratified to know the extremity of my feelings, or terrified?

"So very true," I said, voice dripping with sarcasm. "I never would have realized it myself, but now that you mention it, I really ought to be moving along. That Jeremy suddenly seems alluringly pathetic—" All my amusement disappeared at the look that came over his face. The color had drained from his skin, as though he had been knifed in the gut.

"Beau?" I said, startled, shocked. "You know I'm joking."

He stared back at me. He nodded slowly, but didn't speak.

I gazed back a long moment, wondering exactly what I was going to do with him. He seemed entirely uncertain of me. It was so easy to hurt him and make him feel insecure without meaning to. Maybe it wasn't so much that he didn't believe me as he was afraid to. How was I going to convince him? Make him see?

The only thing I could think of was to spell it out. To just come out and say it, and say it over and over, express it with every word and action. If I just kept hammering away, eventually it would have to penetrate, even an unfathomable brain such as his.

However, expressing my feelings was not something I was accustomed to—not the nice ones, anyway. It made me feel strange. Vulnerable in a way that was hard to define. I thought I had been open beyond reason or decorum the previous night, but clearly I was going to have to learn to be even more so. However, I trusted Beau, implicitly. That would make it easier, I hoped.

Slowly, I reached my hand across the table toward him. I hesitated there, suddenly worried he wouldn't take it. However, a moment later he placed a hand over mine.

He smiled a little and I smiled back.

 _She didn't—She didn't! I'll kill her! I'll take her car apart piece by piece!_

 _No way...seriously? She used to be the responsible one._

 _I had a feeling this would spiral out of control. If the Volturi find out..._

Several shocked and outraged thoughts skewered me through the back from across the cafeteria. Royal was viciously imagining the things he was going to do to my favorite car—and various other things I owned. Eleanor was in disbelief while Jessamine was radiating disapproval.

 _Sorry, Edy,_ thought Archie. _But they heard part of your conversation and, well, I could see things would turn out worse if I didn't explain everything._ I had a mental picture of what Royal would have done if he found out at home—where he didn't have a facade to keep up. My Aston Martin mangled and up in flames. I knew I'd have to consider hiding it somewhere out of state.

Beau caught my sudden grimace and, misinterpreting it, quickly withdrew his hand. "Sorry."

"No," I said quickly, before he could draw away completely. "It's not you. Here."

I stretched out my hand for his again, but a second before touching I hesitated. Then, paying very close attention to what I was doing, I let my fingers rest lightly on his palm. His hand folded around mine.

"What was wrong just now?" he said in a low voice, sensing my tension.

"Many different reactions," I muttered back, making a face. "Royal has a particularly strident mental voice."

He glanced over automatically at our table across the room, and froze when he saw the hostile looks oriented in my direction.

Royal's gaze shifted for a fraction of a second to Beau, and for an instant his mind filed with images of exactly what he'd like to do to the skinny, helpless little—

I spun around so fast in my chair Royal didn't have time to look away. The moment our eyes met and he saw the expression on my face, his eyes dropped, sullen. He didn't need to read my mind to know what I was thinking; he'd seen murder in my face enough times to recognize it.

Archie was grinning as he watched us, shoulders shaking with silent laughter. Jessamine wasn't looking our way, but the consternation of her relatively quiet mind was just as pronounced as Royal's.

I turned back to the table. I was going to have to deal with the fallout from all this later, no mistake.

I was a little surprised to find Beau staring at me with wide eyes and an appropriately terrified expression.

"Did I just piss off—" he began.

"No," I said, cutting him off. Then I sighed. "But I did."

He snuck a peek back at the table again, but fortunately they were no longer looking in our direction. "Look," he asked. "Are you in trouble because of me? What can I do?"

I didn't turn, but as he asked I suspected his eyes were on Royal. However, Jessamine was the one I was more worried about. I could only hope Archie would remind her of his and Beau's pending friendship.

I smiled to reassure him. "You don't need to worry about me. I'm not saying Royal couldn't take me in a fair fight, but I _am_ saying I never _have_ fought fair and I don't intend to start now. He knows better than to try anything with me."

He didn't look particularly reassured. "Edythe..."

The last thing I wanted was to see him unnecessarily lose sleep worrying, so I said, "A joke. It's really nothing, Beau. Normal sibling issues. An only child wouldn't understand."

"If you say so." His eyes flickered toward Royal again uncertainly.

"I do."

His eyes dropped to our hands, still joined at the center of the table. He was quiet for a long minute.

I could tell he wasn't going to say anything more, and I thought it time to get the conversation back on track—I was irritated at Royal for cutting into my time with Beau. My time was limited, I couldn't let myself get distracted.

"Back to what you were thinking," I said abruptly.

He sighed and looked disgruntled, but resigned.

I remembered what I had decided, to say my thoughts more openly—I had to tell the truth, hold nothing back. Until he quit being so ridiculously insecure.

"Would it help if you knew you weren't the only one who had been accused of obsession?" I asked, smiling.

He made a distinct sound of dismay. "You heard that, too," he muttered. "Great."

I laughed—as though he thought I'd have missed a single moment. "I was entranced from start to finish." My own classroom could have gone up in flames and I wouldn't have noticed.

"Sorry," he muttered, looking down.

"Why are you apologizing?" I asked, bemused. If anything, I should have been the one apologizing for shamelessly eavesdropping on what should have been a private conversation. Not that I would have apologized even if he had asked me to—apologizing implied remorse. And I wouldn't have missed it for anything.

I added, "It makes me feel better to know I'm not the only one."

He looked as though he thought I might be putting him on.

I paused, trying to think of a way to get through. _Open._

"Let me put it this way," I said at last. "Though you are the one person I can't be _sure_ about, I'd still be willing to place a very large wager that I spend more time thinking about you than you do about me."

"Ha," he laughed suddenly, making me blink. "You would totally lose that bet."

I raised an eyebrow, wondering if he was really going to try to make that argument. Still, it made me wonder—exactly how much _did_ he think of me? As soon as he woke up in the morning? As he made breakfast? As he drove to school? As he sat in class? As he went home for the afternoon? As he went to bed at night?

Even if he did think of me at all those times, I found it hard to believe it could be a constant thought, every waking minute of the day—humans couldn't keep track of multiple lines of thought at one time like we could. It was certainly an intriguing idea, and made me almost giddy—but, very likely he was simply underestimating me. But, either way, it didn't matter much.

"Ah," I said, and my voice was condescending as I noted, "but you're only conscious for roughly sixteen hours in any given twenty-four hour period. That gives me quite a lead, don't you think?"

He folded his arms, not about to back down. Sometimes he was easygoing and quick to let someone else win a fight for the sake of peace, but other times he could be surprisingly stubborn.

"You're not factoring in dreams, though," he pointed out.

By now, some of my amusement at the ridiculous argument we were having had faded a little. I felt suddenly tired—or maybe I was just jealous. Jealous that he could sleep, and that he could dream.

"Do nightmares count as dreams?" I asked. I tried to form my mouth into an ironic smile, imagining the appropriate kind of dreams normal people had involving vampires, but I couldn't quite make my face form the expression.

Maybe it was because my face was too serious for the joke, but he didn't smile. Instead, he gazed at me, a kind of intensity in his face, even as I noticed the red spots of embarrassment already beginning to creep up his neck.

"When I dream about you..." he began quietly, "it's definitely not a nightmare."

His voice was soft, but his blue eyes were deep, intense with emotion. For a second his eyes seemed to trap me where I was and I couldn't look away. Royal could have been mentally calling me every foul name he knew from his vast vocabulary and I wouldn't have noticed. My breathing sped as I tried to imagine what sort of dreams he had about me. He occasionally said my name in his sleep, but the exact tone of the dreams had sometimes been difficult to tell.

It seemed strange that something so trivial could affect me so much—a look, a tone, a word about his dreams. But then, everything he thought and did affected me. I was a prisoner, and I realized I had no desire to be free.

He was looking at me, and I realized he was waiting for a response, so I forced myself to remember how to speak. "Really?" I asked softly, my eyes still locked with his.

Something about my tone, perhaps the honest pleasure I couldn't hide or the fact the teasing had disappeared for the moment, seemed to embolden him, and he added quietly, "Every single night."

 _Gag me._

Royal's condescending, disgusted mental voice interrupted us.

 _I really can't take any more. You—a sap for that kind of thing and making eyes at a_ human— _I never would have guessed._

I closed my eyes, keeping my face perfectly smooth. Much as I would have liked to turn around and tell him in a blazing mutter maybe _he_ was the one who needed to look out for _his_ car—I knew if I showed any reaction, Beau would take it as a response to what he had said, and he would be afraid to say anything like that again. And if I told him the truth—of the audience to our conversation and Royal—he'd probably be embarrassed and self-conscious. I wasn't going to let Royal's sour attitude ruin the odd magic of this moment.

Ignoring Royal, I continued with a bit of a smile, "REM cycles are the shortest of all the sleep stages. I'm still hours ahead."

He frowned, considering that for a long moment. "You really think about _me?_ " he said at last.

If I didn't have a photographic memory, I would have lost track of how many times I had expressed this in one form or another, but it never seemed to sink in.

"Why is that hard for you to believe?" I asked, refusing to let my mounting frustration leak into my voice.

"Well, look at me," he insisted, gesturing to himself as if his point was obvious.

I _was_ looking. All I ever did was look at him, or wish I was looking at him. I waited for him to continue.

"I'm absolutely ordinary," he said. "Well, except for bad things like all the near-death experiences and being so uncoordinated that I can barely walk. And look at you." He gestured vaguely at me, again as though making an obvious point.

I smiled. I felt the smile grow wider and wider, until it wouldn't stretch any farther. I suppose it made sense that he had such a human perspective on things—all about looks and money and status. And he was such an unassuming person by nature. He couldn't see what I saw—clear, sky blue eyes that revealed his kind, pure spirit all the way down to his core. His loyalty, his self-sacrifice. The fact that he was sitting here, across from me, _wanting_ to be here with me in spite of knowing the monster that I was. _That_ was what was really hard to believe. That was the miracle here.

"I can't argue with all the bad things," I noted.

"Well, there you go," he said, at once triumphant and deflated.

I leaned my head on my hand, watching him. "But you're the least ordinary person I've ever met," I said softly.

I gazed into his face, and he gazed back into mine, confused. He seemed to be thinking—trying to grasp this version of reality which didn't match what he'd known his entire life.

I half expected Royal to interrupt with another scathing mental comment or expression of disgust, but as my mind casually stretched out in that direction, I noticed his thoughts were gone. I didn't bother to spread my net wider to find him. Let him go cool off, or get away from my sappy, romantic moments—or smash my car to bits. Whatever it was, I didn't particularly care at the moment.

Finally Beau blinked, and broke away from my gaze. "But why..." he began.

I waited.

"Last night..." he started, then once again trailed off. He paused for a long minute, until I couldn't take the suspense any longer.

"Do you do that on purpose?" I wanted to know. "The unfinished thought as a way to drive me mad?"

He shook his head. "I don't know if I can explain it right."

"Please try."

He thought again for a second. "Okay," he said at last. "You're claiming I don't bore you and you aren't thinking of moving on to Jeremy anytime soon."

The corner of my mouth twitched, but I forced my face to stay neutral.

"But last night..." he said slowly, "it was like..."

I waited, tense, for some reason I could not explain.

He noticed my rigid posture, and the rest came out in a rush. "Like you were already looking for a way to say goodbye."

I stared back at him as it all suddenly made sense. I had been attributing his reluctance to believe me to something about him—he was absurd or too self-effacing or his brain didn't work right—but all along it was me. He was watching me closely, and he saw clearly the conflicting signals I was sending. Hadn't I adamantly said it wasn't too late? That I didn't want to hear him say things like that about me?

And yet, hadn't I made it clear my reasons for why I had to leave? Didn't he comprehend the danger I was to him? The danger he was in constantly in being around me? Well, I would make it clear now.

"Perceptive," I said softly, and watched as he stiffened, then slumped.

Very carefully, lightly, I squeezed my fingers around his.

"Those two things are unrelated, however," I said.

He looked up. "Which two things?"

I said matter-of-factly, "The depth of my feelings for you, and the necessity of leaving. Well, they _are_ related, but inversely."

His eyes were pained as he gazed at me. "I don't understand," he said quietly.

I looked into his eyes again, and he didn't look away. I said, my voice lower still, "The more I care about you, the more crucial it is that I find a way to...keep you safe. From me. Leaving would be the right thing to do." The only thing to do.

His jaw tightened slightly, and his eyes never moved from mine as he slowly shook his head back and forth. _"No."_

I drew a deep breath, and once again his scent burned the back of my throat, making my head spin—it was a good thing I'd worn the scarf all through classes, it _had_ kept me accustomed to the smell, so it didn't hit me as hard now. But still it was always present, a thought at the back of my mind. I loved him—so much—why couldn't that be enough to will it away? This fiendish, dark longing for his blood?

He still didn't really understand the danger. He didn't understand the risk, my giving in to my impulse to spend so much time together, how unforgivably selfish I was being. Naive as he was, he _wanted_ me to be selfish—and I was selfish enough that, deep down, I was happy about that.

"Well," I said, lip curling with disdain at my own weakness, my eyes hard, "I wasn't very good at leaving you alone when I tried. I don't know _how_ to do it."

He frowned back at me. "Will you do me a favor? Stop trying to figure that one out."

 _Naive._ I gazed back at him. He was afraid—afraid of my leaving. But he didn't need to be, didn't need to say that. Because for all my talk, at this point, I wasn't even really trying.

I smiled a little. "I suppose, given the frequency of your near-death experiences, it's actually safer for me to stay close." It was as convenient an excuse as any—I would take what I could get.

He brightened, seizing on that. "True story. You never know when another rogue van might attack."

I frowned, not sure I liked this new flippant streak he was developing.

"You're still going to Seattle with me, right?" he asked. "Lots of vans in Seattle. Waiting in ambush around literally every corner."

Definitely too flippant.

I already knew Seattle was out, thanks to Archie's weather forecast. Or at least, if he went, I couldn't go with him.

"Actually," I said, "I have a question for you on that subject. Did you really need to go to Seattle this Saturday, or was that just an excuse to get out of saying a definite no to your bevy of admirers?"

"Um." His face said it all.

"That's what I thought."

His brow clouded and he looked at me with a sudden touch of accusation. "You know, you actually put me in kind of a difficult position with the whole thing in the parking lot with Taylor."

"You mean because you're taking her to prom now?"

His mouth fell open in shock—I wondered when he would get used to the fact that, aloof as I might seem, I was completely keyed in to all of the high school gossip—at least gossip that concerned him. Then he closed his mouth and I thought I heard the sound of him grinding his teeth behind his lips.

I shouldn't have found his plight amusing, but my lips twitched. "Oh, Beau," I said gently.

My overly kind tone got his attention. "What?" he said, suspicious.

"She already has her dress."

His eyes widened—the fact he looked more terrified at this revelation than at finding out I was a blood-sucking vampire was not lost on me.

I took pity on him. "It could be worse—she actually bought it before she claimed you for the date. It was secondhand, also, not a large investment. She couldn't pass up the deal."

He didn't look much consoled. I squeezed his hand.

"You'll figure it out," I encouraged.

He slumped, glum. "I don't do dances."

Before I could stop myself, I heard myself asking, "If _I'd_ asked you to the spring dance, would you have told me no?" I made my voice light and teasing, but this was something I had been wondering about for awhile. I was becoming too used to asking every question that came into my mind—apparently I no longer had a filter.

I started to grow worried when he didn't answer right away, simply staring at my face as he considered it. Taking this long to decide couldn't be a good sign.

At last he said reluctantly, "Probably not." He added, "But I would have found a reason to cancel later. I would have broken my leg if I had to."

I didn't know how to respond to that. "Why would you do that?" I said, bemused. As always, the path of his thoughts was too bizarre to follow.

He shook his head. "You've never seen me in Gym, I guess, but I would have thought you'd understand."

I considered that. Now that I thought about it, for all my mind-stalking I never _had_ watched him in Gym, at least not consistently. I would soon remedy that. But, I had watched him enough to have a feeling I knew what he meant. "Are you referring to the fact that you can't walk across a flat, stable surface without finding something to trip over?"

"Got it in one."

"I'm a very good teacher, Beau."

He muttered, "I don't think coordination is a learnable skill."

Always so stubborn. We would have to come back to this subject of dances later, but for now, better to return to the matter at hand. I noticed we tended to get sidetracked quite a bit.

"Back to the question. Must you go to Seattle, or would you mind if we did something different?"

He paused, then said slowly, "I'm open to alternatives. But I do have another favor to ask."

I hesitated, nervous, though I wasn't quite sure why. "What?" I asked warily.

His clear blue eyes met mine. "Can I drive?"

I stared back, wondering if this was his idea of a joke. "Why?"

"Well," he said, "mostly because you're a terrifying driver. But also because I told Charlie I was going alone, and I don't want him to get curious."

I was slightly incredulous. "Of all the things about me that could frighten you, you worry about my driving."

I paused, as a sudden idea for where we might go instead struck me. A flash of excitement pulse through me at the thought of taking him there—my own personal place. The place I went when I wanted to be alone in my head. However, beneath the excitement I also felt just the barest flicker of terror. It would be sunny that day. Could I do it? Show him exactly how inhuman I really was?

 _Edy_.

I recognized Archie's mental voice, and it was oddly urgent.

My thoughts shifted to his, and I saw his vision—and I remembered suddenly we had both seen this vision before, that morning I'd saved him from the van, when it was still indistinct, hard to make out. Now I saw it clearly—me, standing in a bright circle of sunlight in my meadow, my personal place. And Beau there with me.

I looked at the vision in wonder. So I would have courage enough to do it—show him what I was.

 _It's the same place,_ Archie thought, and his mind was full of horror.

For an instant, I didn't understand what he meant, or the strength of the emotions he now radiated. Then he summoned the vision to mind, forcing me to see it. Us, in the meadow again. Only...

 _Edy_ , he pleaded. _We're going to be friends. Best friends. Please._

For just a second I was too stunned by the picture in his head to react. Perhaps the tiniest spasm of horror crossed my face—but it was too fast for human eyes to catch, and in a moment my expression was perfectly smooth, nothing but calm.

Archie had nothing to worry about. That would never happen. I knew what I was doing—I was completely in control. Wasn't I?

Not even a half second had passed, and Beau was still looking at me expectantly, waiting for my reply to his bizarre request.

I turned all my attention solely on him, shutting out Archie and his pessimistic visions. I could understand he was worried. But that wouldn't happen. Not now.

But still the image remained at the back of my consciousness like a nightmare, refusing to go away. It was an older vision, before I'd consciously known my feelings. Before I'd acknowledged their all-consuming nature. Yet it brought all my fears never far from my thoughts clamoring to the surface.

My face remained composed, but I was no longer playful and teasing. "Won't you tell your father that you're spending the day with me?" I asked quietly.

He was, of course, unconcerned, and brushed it aside. "With Charlie, less is always more." He added curiously, "Where are we going anyway?"

"Archie says the weather will be nice, so I'll be staying out of the public eye..." I trailed off, deciding to leave it vague, and hoping he wouldn't ask why Archie would be our ultimate source of weather knowledge.

Thinking of Archie, my attention briefly shifted behind me again. Archie was talking to Jessamine in a low voice—Jessamine had sensed his abrupt shift of mood. His thoughts were still on me, and that one thread of possibility in the meadow.

 _That won't happen,_ I thought. And yet, the image was worming its way deep into my mind, condemning what I was doing, all my plans, everything I wanted.

I'd left what I was saying hanging, and finally I completed, "...and you can stay with me, if you'd like to." Guilt made me sound uncertain. _Wrong,_ whispered the small voice of my conscience—it was still there, but subdued, by now used to being ignored. _Wrong,_ the voice repeated. _Acting as though you're letting him make the choice doesn't make up for anything. Because you know what he'll say, because he doesn't really understand. Not yet._

"And you'll show me what you meant, about the sun?" he asked, his face brightening with anticipation and curiosity.

I clamped down on both voices—my conscience and Archie's warnings. I shoved them far to the back of my mind, not even to be considered right now. I wasn't going to let anything ruin this.

"Yes," I said, smiling. I paused, and as I looked into his face, still happy, lit with the thought of spending time with me and unraveling another mystery, the hard shell I had placed around my conscience to keep it quiet cracked.

 _You're going to do whatever you want and let the chips fall where they may,_ my conscience whispered, parroting my own words back at me. _Isn't that right?_

I love him, I thought weakly. Archie just doesn't understand. He doesn't love him, _need_ him like I do. There is no danger—no more than usual.

 _You're the villain of this story,_ it said softly. _You are precisely what he needs to escape from most—his greatest enemy he needs to overcome—and he doesn't even know it._

For a moment, this thought overwhelmed me—because for an instant I could see, without a shadow of a doubt, it was true. I was the villain—and we were racing all too quickly toward the climax. There were only two possible endings. Either it would end in tragedy, or in my defeat. He would finally see me for what I was and flee from me, the monster that stalked him, drawing him in like a fish on a lure—

But even as the thoughts circled sickeningly in my head and the images from Archie's vision flashed in my mind, I once again shoved them forcibly back. And I realized, there were some advantages to being the villain—a villain always knew precisely what they wanted, and was willing to do anything to get it, regardless of all else. Free from the tangle of moral obligations created by a conscience.

So even as my conscience seared me, and I prepared to speak, I knew I wouldn't say what I should say. It would only be a half-warning, too vague to count. I wasn't going to risk sacrificing my precious time with him, not even for his own good.

"But," I began, "if you don't want to be...alone with me—" As though I were giving him an opportunity to get away, when I already knew he wouldn't take it—"I'd still rather you didn't go to Seattle by yourself." I was already thinking of ways to make it work, in spite of the sun that day. We could still drive together—that would give us plenty of time to talk. Then I could wait in the car while he shopped in the bookstores. I'd follow him with my mind. Or maybe we could buy me a parasol—the image almost made me laugh, and I felt some of my dark mood lift. I added with a touch of sarcasm, "I shudder to think of all the _vans_."

As expected, he only shrugged. "As it happens, I don't mind being alone with you."

I gazed back at him a second, and I wondered if, instead of demanding my selfishness as he was now, if he told me to be responsible, I would be. If I would be acting like a better person now, someone more like Carine wanted me to be. If I didn't have such a ready-made excuse that leaving would hurt him too...

Either way, I supposed now it didn't matter.

"I know," I said hollowly with defeat. I hesitated, then added, "You really should tell Charlie, though."

His mouth twisted with distaste. "Why on earth would I do that?" He sounded embarrassed, even insulted at the thought. Like I was lecturing him, treating him like a little kid who had to have his parents' permission.

He was so casual, so relaxed—I was suddenly angry, furious. Furious that he was refusing to help me keep him safe. Refusing to take precautions. I loved him, and I longed more than anything for him to be perfectly safe around me, for me to _be_ safe. I didn't want him to be afraid of me; I wanted him to trust me. Yet to follow me so obliviously—did he think it was brave, or romantic, to give so little thought to his own life? In a strange way, I hated his inexplicable devotion, his heedless desire to be around me no matter the risks, almost as much as I loved it.

I looked into his eyes and Archie's vision swam to the forefront of my mind, glittering sunlight and emerald green grass soaked in blood. For a moment I was no longer the strange girl who teased him and flirted with him about who thought about who more—I was the predator, the monster that wanted nothing but his blood.

"To give me some small incentive to bring you back," I whispered, my eyes narrowed, a hint of my teeth showing.

He stared back at me for a minute. I wasn't sure whether I wanted to see the fear I knew should be there. I dreaded it more than anything, and yet, he _needed_ to be afraid. For his own good—or he would keep doing things like he had in the car. He wouldn't do anything to protect himself.

His eyes never wavered from mine. At last he said, "I'll take my chances."

Still oblivious. Still naïve. Or had I been misinterpreting his responses all along? Was the possibility of having his blood consumed by a vampire a thrill to him—an adrenaline rush to interrupt the tedium of this gray, dreary town life? Did he crave the excitement enough to risk his life for it? Did he eagerly await those moments when we were alone to see if I would succumb to my instincts, and reveal the monster I was? Like a little boy at a circus, prodding a sleeping tiger in the eye.

I looked away, glaring at the side of the table.

After a minute he cleared his throat, looking awkward. "So that's settled. New topic?"

I raised my eyes to his, frustrated. "What do you want to talk about?" I asked, though my tone was more hostile than conciliatory.

He looked around, as though searching out potential listening ears. When he spoke again, he kept his voice low. "Why did you go to that Goat Rocks place last weekend...to hunt?" His question turned into a guess at the end. He added, "Charlie said it wasn't a good place to hike, because of bears."

I didn't answer, only calmly waited for him to put the pieces together.

He thought for a minute, then his eyes widened. _"Bears?"_

I couldn't help it, I grinned.

He stared at me. "You know, bears are not in season," he managed at last, trying to sound light.

My grin widened. "If you read carefully, the laws only cover hunting with weapons."

I watched his face, as he struggled with the shock. This seemed to get through to him in a way that none of my vague warnings of how dangerous we were had. Finally we were getting somewhere.

"Bears?" he repeated again in a small voice.

"Grizzly is Eleanor's favorite," I said casually, though I continued to watch his face. Beneath my triumph was the barest flicker of terror, but I ignored it. This had to happen. He had to be made to understand.

As though he somehow sensed the emotions churning beneath the smile, he struggled for a moment to collect himself again.

"Hmmm," he said, with exaggerated nonchalance as he took another bite of his pizza. He seemed to be looking for something to say.

"So," he said at last. "What's your favorite?"

I raised an eyebrow. Ridiculous question—as always, its commonplace normalcy made abnormal in light of the subject.

"Mountain lion," I said.

"Sure, that makes sense." He nodded, mask of composure and nonchalance still in place.

I wondered how far I could push him before I made him crack. "Of course," I said conversationally, "we have to be careful not to impact the environment with injudicious hunting. We try to focus on areas with an overpopulation of predators—ranging as far away as we need. There are always plenty of deer and elk here, but where's the fun in that?" I smiled again.

He didn't seem to know how to answer, and he muttered as he chewed, "So not fun."

"Early spring is El's favorite bear season," I continued. "They're just coming out of hibernation, so they're more irritable."

I smiled a little. Seventy years later, after the fight with a bear that had left her nearly dead and first brought her to us, Eleanor still had a grudge against bears of all kinds. She didn't like to lose.

"Nothing better than an irritated grizzly bear," he said, nodding.

I broke first and laughed aloud at his carefully polite, unruffled expression. "Tell me what you're really thinking, please."

He frowned. "I'm trying to picture it—but I can't. How do you hunt a bear without weapons?"

I'd been right—he really didn't grasp what I was or what I was capable of, even now, even seeing me lift a van and after all I had said. I had his attention now, I had to push harder.

"Oh, we have weapons," I said, smiling so wide he could see all of my teeth. "Just not the kind they consider when writing hunting laws. If you've ever seen a bear attack on television, you should be able to visualize Eleanor hunting."

His eyes drifted automatically to our table, and as his gaze rested on Eleanor, a shiver went down his spine. He looked away quickly, his eyes returning to me. Some of his put-on calm was gone. However, a flicker of concern crossed his face.

"Is it dangerous?" he asked in a low voice. "Do you ever get hurt?"

Again, I laughed aloud—the notion. "Oh, Beau. About as dangerous as your slice."

He stared down at his pizza, considering that. "Yikes," he muttered. He glanced back up. "So...are you...like a bear attack?"

"More like the lion, or so they tell me," I answered lightly. Less brute force, more cunning subtlety, or so Archie had once pointed out. Eleanor charged down her prey with a roar, while I preferred to stalk up and strike from behind. Eleanor faced her prey head on, while mine never knew what hit them.

No one had ever accused me of fighting fair.

I added with a hint of a smile, "Perhaps our preferences are indicative."

"Perhaps," he echoed. He frowned a little, gazing for a long moment at my face, perhaps still unable to imagine it the way I was describing. He was trying to reconcile everything I was telling him with what all his common experience from the time he was a child had taught him. He did believe everything I had said, and yet it must seem impossible to think of someone who looked as small and delicate as I did striking down dangerous predators. It was hard for humans to get past what their eyes told them—even for a mind as peculiar and out of step with the typical mind of the entire population as his.

He paused, then said, "Is that something I might get to see?"

As much as I had come to anticipate the unexpected and irrational talking to him, this request took me completely off guard. For a split second, my entire body seized up. My lungs seemed to freeze in my chest.

"Never!" I whispered, and the single word sounded almost hoarse in my ears. I stared at him with wide, horrified eyes as the image filled my mind—the taste of his blood reaching me on the wind just at the moment I turned my conscious mind over to the hunt, to sate myself... The vision Archie would see in that moment wouldn't be a mere possibility. I didn't need to see the future to know exactly what would happen.

The fear was paralyzing, overpowering. Without knowing quite what I was doing, in reflex I withdrew my hand from his, wrapping my arms around myself—as though to keep from falling to pieces as my body was wracked with a sudden, violent shudder.

He was watching me, startled by the intensity of my reaction.

"What did I say?" he asked quietly.

I closed my eyes, and it took a minute to steady myself, to block out the horrific images enough to relax my tense frame.

I returned my eyes to him at last, and I felt all the horror and panic turn to anger. Even after everything, he still didn't get it—not even slightly. He wasn't going to help me keep him safe, that much was obvious. It would be up to me. I was on my own.

"I almost wish it were possible," I said in a hard voice. "You don't seem to understand the realities present. It might be beneficial for you to see exactly how dangerous I actually am."

He refused to be cowed by my tone. "Okay, then, why not?" he asked.

I didn't answer. I stared at him, letting the anger contort my face, willing him to be afraid of me, even if it was just a little. Afraid enough he would be careful, to take precautions—the same way he did when he was walking on icy blacktop, or driving his truck down the road. But he never reacted, only sat there patiently, waiting for my mood to subside and for me to reply.

However, even if I had felt like answering our hour was up.

"Later," I said shortly, getting to my feet. "We're going to be late."

He blinked and looked around, noticing for the first time that the cafeteria was nearly empty. However, he didn't look nearly as panicked as he had that last time, that day of the blood typing in Biology. I really was starting to think I might be a bad influence on him.

"Later then," he said. And the way he said it made me sure he would hold me to that.

* * *

A/N: Ridiculously, sadistically (masochistically?) long chapter.

There are still a couple long ones coming up (measly 12,000-worders), but this one beats them out by a fair margin.

For the record, I liked the Beau-Jeremy conversation in Life and Death more than the equivalent in the original Twilight. Mostly a lot of little things—the fact Jeremy's more interested in the physical side than in the emotional meant that the info on Beau's emotions had be to revealed in more indirect ways. (Jeremy's the one who confirms Beau's feelings aloud, rather than Beau saying it himself.) I also liked the conflict they have at the end, and how it adds to our sense of Beau as a character. (While the original does communicate Bella's disinclination to brag, and her humble image of herself, I felt like it had more impact in the gender-swapped equivalent, since it felt like the social pressure from Jeremy for Beau to talk about his role in his success was stronger.)

Anyway, ultra long chapter this time out, and some parts might have felt like we were covering the same ground (I do think it's realistic for someone in such an extreme emotional state as Edythe is to keep thinking in circles, but I know sometimes that can be hard on the reader, lol), but there were a lot of fun differences in the Life and Death version to play around with.

Thanks so much for reading! If you have a moment, let me know what you thought, and hope to see you next time! Happy New Year! C:

Posted 12/31/18


	14. Good Deed

A/N: This chapter and the next were originally one, going by the original Life and Death, but it was so long I decided to split it into two. (This one actually had a fairly good stopping place, unlike the last one. I feel like I can focus more on the writing when the chapters are a more manageable length, though unfortunately most of the time ended up getting suctioned into fixing one particular scene.)

Anyway, hope you enjoy, and see you at the end! C:

* * *

Chapter 13: Good Deed

We walked in silence to Biology. I tried to concentrate on the fact that he was here, next to me, and savor every moment—to stave off the images from Archie's vision trying to crowd their way into my thoughts.

We passed Allen, who had stopped on the sidewalk. A girl from his Trigonometry class had stopped him to ask a question about a problem on an assignment.

I scanned his mind cursorily as I was in the habit of doing, hardly expecting to find anything new, and was immediately startled at the tone of his thoughts.

Apparently, there was something he wanted after all. The question was—could I help him get it?

I went next to the girl's mind. I blinked, then smiled to myself.

It shouldn't be a problem. Not for someone with my particular advantages, anyway.

By the time we reached the Biology classroom, I already had my plan worked out.

It was an old story—two people who secretly liked each other, but too embarrassed and shy to say anything. Allen, humble and quiet, never considered for a moment she might feel the same way, and so it had never even entered his mind the possibility of giving any outward indication of his feelings, let alone ask her out. He was generally quiet around her, hardly saying more than a few syllables. Becca Cheney, the girl in question, a shorter girl who was good in math and carried a bag around that was forever weighed down with Japanese-style romance comics, had liked him almost since they had met in sophomore year. But though she had done her best to drop subtle hints, Allen seemed oblivious. She hadn't been able to work up the courage to ask him to the girl's choice dance, and he'd ended up going with Erica, though Erica had complained later he was too quiet and not enough fun. Becca apparently still tried to find excuses to talk to him when she could, but she was on the verge of giving up.

Allen was too unassuming to pick up on the signals, or guess at how she felt—I definitely felt her pain. Well, this was one love story that didn't have to have a disappointing ending. All they needed was a bit of a push in the right direction. The interference of a nosy, manipulative mind-reader who didn't know how to mind her own business.

My mood was almost restored as we entered the classroom and took our seats. I liked the idea of helping Allen. Besides, my time with Beau was limited—every second counted. I shouldn't waste it worrying what Archie or anyone else was thinking, or imagining the horrors I would never allow to happen anyway.

Mrs. Banner entered the room, pulling an ancient television and VCR mounted on a tall metal cart behind her. This was a section of the unit she wasn't particularly interested in—genetic disorders—and she always skipped past it by showing a movie for three days. _Lorenzo's Oil._ Not a very cheerful piece by any stretch of the imagination, but the students were happy anyway. No notes, no testable material—to a human high school student, three days of movie were three days of freedom.

Not that it would have mattered to me either way. I was only going to be paying attention to one thing.

In every Biology class we'd had, I'd always placed my chair as far from him as possible, to give myself room to breathe. Today I pulled up right beside him, as close as a normal human would have sat—maybe a little closer. Barely inches separated us, much closer than we had been even in my car.

I was intensely aware of the heat he was radiating against my left side. It was nerve-wracking and distracting, impossible to focus on anything else, but not in an unpleasant way. I wanted to move closer still—until our arms were touching. Reach over and take his hand in mine, just like in the cafeteria...

However, I forced myself to reign in the thought. I had to be careful—that was the rule. I had let him touch my hand, and that seemed safe, so long as I kept still, but I still had to make sure my concentration didn't falter. I had to make sure I was paying attention every moment, and doubly so whenever we were in contact. I could never let myself forget that all it would take was one mistake.

Mrs. Banner pushed the tape into the VCR, and as it started to play, she headed around to the back to switch off the lights.

The room was suddenly dark. Mrs. Banner had pulled down all the blinds before class, so I didn't doubt that the other students couldn't see much. Little changed for me—I could still see the entire room in perfect detail.

Normally for my kind the darkness made us feel more relaxed. We were made for the night, and that was when our many advantages were at their greatest. We always preferred to hunt at night, when we could.

But the moment the lights went down, I felt suddenly tense. The air seemed to be buzzing with a kind of electricity that I knew had nothing to do with the old television.

I stared straight ahead, aware of nothing except that he was sitting right beside me, centimeters away, and that, in the darkness, it was almost as if we were alone, invisible to the others. I had the nearly overpowering impulse to touch him—not like in the cafeteria, where he had initiated the contact. I wanted to brush my fingertips against his warm skin, run my fingers over each of his knuckles and down to the end of his fingers. To reach up and trace my finger along the shape of his jaw...

I folded my arms decisively across my chest and clenched my hands into fists. No. No mistakes. I had to be concentrating every moment when were in contact, in absolute control—and right now I didn't feel particularly in control.

The movie started playing, brightening the room slightly, and I couldn't stop my eyes glancing in his direction. I only meant to look for a fraction of a second, but he glanced at me at the same moment and our eyes met.

I noticed his posture mirrored mine—back rigid and tense, arms folded tightly across his chest. I wondered if he was imitating me, or if he, too, was feeling the peculiar electric hum in the air around us. I smiled a little sheepishly, and I hoped he couldn't read in my eyes the thoughts going through my mind.

Beau looked away from me, to the television at the front. I saw in the darkness color creeping up his face, and the heat I felt beside me intensified.

The hour passed slowly. In a bizarre way, it almost reminded me of that very first day in Biology, where I sat rigid in my seat, fighting the overpowering hunger for his blood. This temptation was not so murderous or horrific, but it felt nearly as impossible to resist. It was a hunger of a different kind—one I had never fully experienced before now.

The entire hour I spent debating with my own rational mind, trying to convince myself touching his hand once wouldn't hurt him. Despite my strength, I could easily moderate the pressure of my fingers—in fact, my tactile sense was better developed than a human's. I could juggle a dozen crystal goblets without breaking them, I could stroke a soap bubble without bursting it. There was nothing to worry about—so long as I kept my discipline firm.

 _Don't,_ I insisted to myself sternly. _Don't take unnecessary risks._

It was a long, torturous hour—and yet when it was over, I sank slightly in disappointment, and unlike that first terrible day, I thought I wouldn't have minded another hour, or two, or day. If it meant I could sit next to him and let these charged, unfamiliar sensations continue to sink in.

However, as the lights came back up, he looked relieved. His rigid posture finally relaxed, and he let his arms fall. The fingers of his clenched fists looked stiff, and he had to work to try to loosen them.

The look on his face made me laugh, and he glanced around at me.

"Well, that was...interesting," I noted, speaking softly. I watched him carefully.

He looked like he was having trouble getting his eyes to focus. "Umm," he said vaguely in response.

"Shall we?" I made my tone light as I got to my feet and took up my bag. He wordlessly followed me and, without discussion, I headed with him toward his Gym class.

Things felt...awkward. Tense. In a way, even more tense than they had last night in my car, when we were talking about vampires and the fact I'd wanted to kill him when we first met.

This was turning dangerous now. It was spiraling out of control. I knew these impulses were purely hormonal—I'd never considered this particular downside to being frozen at the age of seventeen, arguably among the years when the power of hormones was at its peak—but if I gave reign to them even a little, gave in to the extreme temptation, I could so easily hurt him, even kill him.

And yet...

My eyes flickered to him, walking beside me. One thing was clear, this dream wasn't going to last forever. I was only going to have this for a short time—until I found the strength to leave, or he lived out the rest of his life and died of old age. How many more chances would I have like this? To just—reach out and touch him. Lightly, just once. Surely that wouldn't be such a crime. I would inevitably regret it if I didn't. Surely there could be no harm...

We came to a stop at the gym door. He turned to gaze down at me and, though his mouth opened to say something, he froze, starting slightly as he took in the expression on my face.

I stared up into his wide, blue eyes, and I could see my own face mirrored back at me. I saw in my reflection the torment, the conflict that burned there. He didn't say anything, only stared down at me, aware of the strain of the moment.

 _Don't do it,_ warned the voice in the back of my mind. _If you give into this now, where will it end?_

But my hand was already moving, reaching, up to his face—his perfect, exquisite face that was forever the focus of all my thoughts. He watched me, unmoving.

My hand hesitated a second. Then, as gently as if I were touching the thinnest glass, with the very tips of my fingers I stroked the line of his jaw.

His skin was warm beneath mine—I felt the pulse of blood beneath it and some of the heat flowed into me.

The moment of contact didn't bring with it any relief. Instead, my mind seemed suddenly to open with a thousand possibilities—ways we might touch. I imagined my entire palm curling around the side of his cheek, wrapping my arms around his neck, my head resting against his chest...

I spun around before the sudden craving could overpower me. And, without saying another word, I quickly walked away, back down the hall.

However, of course my thoughts remained behind with him.

McKayla Newton happened to be there, having just stopped outside the girls' changing room in time to witness that last moment before we had parted. Her mind was a convenient place to watch him from, and I saw as she saw him wander past her in a daze.

Her shock—though she'd been expecting something like this since this morning—quickly turned to anger. For the moment, she completely forgot her resolve to forget about Beau.

 _I can't stand her,_ she seethed. _Oh, I can't_ stand _her. What kind of game is she playing? How much longer is she going to keep this up?_

As she entered the girls' changing room and Beau entered the boys' side, she continued to fume. I pulled my concentration back from her mind, and instead worked to get a hold of myself.

I was already feeling remorse for the brief moment of contact, even as it had me desperately longing for more. Wanting to push my own rules and boundaries further than I'd ever pushed them before. I'd been right to compare today in Biology to that first day—the burn I felt now was not unlike the burn for his blood. Once I had the taste in my mouth, it made me want more, made it almost impossible to stop. I had to keep a better hold over myself. My restraint, my self-control was everything. I could savor the memory...but I couldn't let it happen again. I wouldn't.

I breathed deeply to steady my thoughts just as Eleanor caught up to me just outside the English building.

"Hey, girl." _Wow, she's looking better than she did at lunch. Excited._

"Hey, El," I said. Did I look excited? I wasn't sure. Maybe I was overestimating the effect of my conscience. My fingers tingled as I remembered the feel of his warm, soft skin beneath my fingers and, quite abruptly, my mood was soaring.

Eleanor's mouth pursed, and she raised an eyebrow at me. _So. You told him, huh? Everything?_

I sighed. "Pretty much." I kept my voice too low for humans to overhear. "Sorry. How's Royal taking it?"

She shrugged. _Like you'd expect. He's just buzzing like a hornet. You'll be in for it when you get back. Jessamine's not happy either._

"What about you?" I asked, still talking under my breath.

Eleanor flashed a grin. _Well, it did kind of make me want to put you in a headlock._ _I mean, if you were going to go spill all our secrets to a human, I'd figure you'd at least call a meeting first. But, I guess it had to happen sometime. Considering what Archie saw._

An image of Beau, his skin alabaster white and his eyes a glowing crimson, flashed through her mind.

I stared straight ahead, trying not to think of Archie's visions—any of them.

I needed a distraction of some kind, and I paused as I caught sight of Becca Cheney slipping into Spanish ahead of us. I smiled as the plan I'd concocted returned to my mind.

"Hey, El," I said softly to her under my breath. "There's something I'm going to do...if you don't mind, please don't interfere."

She glanced back at me, mystified. _Do? Do what?_

I grinned. "A good deed."

She frowned at me, curious.

Becca was already in her seat behind mine, scrambling to assemble the homework due this period. She flipped through a couple of pages, making sure she hadn't grabbed her homework for another class by mistake, as she had done last week. When her glasses slipped down her nose, she pushed them up again, oblivious to Eleanor and I as we slid into our usual seats.

The classroom was not quiet yet, murmurs of conversation still going on until Mr. Goff called for attention. He was in no hurry, still in the middle of grading some quizzes from the previous class.

I took advantage of the delay to turn around in my seat.

"Becca?" I murmured in a low, polite voice.

She immediately froze, hands still gripped around the papers, in the act of checking over the answers to her homework again. She stared down at the desk.

 _Must have imagined it,_ she thought at last, and gingerly moved to resume what she was doing.

"Becca," I said again, smiling, a little louder this time.

Becca's eyes stayed trained on her desk, her heart suddenly pounding. _Is that Edythe Cullen? Is she talking to me?_

She raised her eyes slowly, apprehensively, to meet mine. "Yes?" she answered in a small voice.

I flashed a smile. "How's your week been so far, Becca?"

"Um...good." She continued to stare at me with wide, slightly terrified eyes. _Edythe Cullen is talking to me. This is weird. This is really, really weird._

Keeping my voice too low for anyone other than Eleanor to overhear, I said, "I was wondering, Becca, if you might consider doing something for me. Just a little favor."

She gazed back at me uncertainly. _I knew it. I knew she had to want something—but why me?_ Her mental tone was full of dread, filled with vague, only half-remembered stories of pranks cool kids pulled on the geeks when they got bored.

"You're friends with Beau Swan, aren't you?" I asked.

She hesitated. _Beau?_ "Not...not really."

"But you're friends with Allen," I pressed. "And Allen is friends with Beau."

Her eyes dropped to her desk. "Not really friends..." she mumbled. "I mean Allen—we just have some classes together."

"Whatever," I said, waving this away. "The point is, you do know Beau, at least a little. Well, I have it on good authority that he's at a stage in his life where he could use the friendly advice of a female friend."

Becca stared at me in confusion, trying to understand where this could be leading. "Um," she said, eyes flickering down to her table again, then peeking back up at me hesitantly. "McKayla is better friends with him than I am... Maybe you could ask her."

I sighed, as though she were missing something obvious. "Yes," I said, "but I don't _like_ McKayla."

She stared at me, eyes round.

I added with a smile, "Or any of Beau's other little female admirers."

Becca stared at the table, thoughts churning. _I thought I heard someone saying they saw her hanging around Beau a lot yesterday. Are they dating? So why does she need my help? I don't like this. I don't like this at all._

"It's nothing serious," I said placatingly. "Merely, when it comes to Beau, things haven't been progressing _quite_ as quickly as I'd like, and sometimes just a little nudge from an outside perspective can do wonders."

Becca couldn't hold my gaze for more than a couple seconds, and her eyes dropped back to the safety of her desk, though her thoughts were incredulous. _She can't really expect... but I don't even know Beau._

"Of course, you're not the best choice," I admitted. "But unfortunately, you're the closest girl to him who wouldn't also be angling to take him for yourself. After all, you already have someone else."

Becca's mouth fell open in shock, glasses sliding halfway down her nose. "I—I don't know what you mean," she stammered.

I gave her an almost pitying smile as I casually slung an arm over the back of my chair. "Oh, I didn't know it was supposed to be a secret. No wonder the two of you haven't made any progress."

She mouthed wordlessly a moment, shaking her head in an attempted denial.

"Here's an idea," I said. "I'll help you out. All you really need is a bit of advice—and when it comes to this sort of advice, trust me, I'm never wrong. Then when it works out, you'll owe me a favor. And you can just give Beau that bit of a nudge I'd like—don't worry, I'll tell you exactly what to say."

Becca continued to shake her head, hands wringing with nerves beneath the desk. "I—I don't have any idea what you..."

I raised my eyebrows, smiling slyly. "Come now, Becca. How do you expect to get Allen Weber to take you to the prom with that attitude?"

Becca stared back at me, eyes wide. The golden brown skin of her face darkened several shades, and suddenly her eyes darted about the room, searching for possible listening ears.

"Well?" I prompted.

Becca's eyes dropped back to the desk. For a second, she let herself entertain the possibility—a single mental image of Allen in a tuxedo, and herself on his arm, the corners of his mouth turned up in that usual quiet, gentle smile of his.

Then she pushed it back, as doubt and suspicion took its place. A partial conversation she had overheard McKayla having came back to her mind—something about my meaning to play around with Beau awhile, then drop him like a stone.

 _I don't want to get mixed up in this,_ Becca thought. _What if this is all part of a big joke on Beau? I can't be a part of that._

I tapped an impatient finger against the metal bar on the back of my seat. And there McKayla went, interfering with my plans again. I hadn't factored in her influence and misinformed, warped view of my intent. Fortunately, I had left my best attack for last.

Becca was still staring at her desk, and she slowly shook her head once, mumbling something incoherent. I sighed deeply.

"How unfortunate," I said.

Becca blinked, and her eyes automatically rose to meet mine.

I gave a sad shake of my head. "Well, if that's how it is..." I met her confused gaze, and my lips suddenly curled into a threatening smile. "...Then I suppose you wouldn't mind if Allen went to the prom with _me_."

She stared at me uncomprehending for a second, before her eyes widened in horror. "Y-You..." she began in a stutter.

I flashed a wide smile. "Why not? I like shy guys."

Becca was shrunk back in her chair, eyes still wide with horror and intimidation, but her thoughts were a slightly different story.

 _She couldn't—I thought she liked Beau. Would she really try to get Allen to go with her just because I wouldn't do what she wanted? Allen's so nice, he doesn't deserve that. What if she turns them against each other? I can't let that happen, can I? What should I do?_

I'd actually been going for jealousy—the impulse to stop me getting anywhere near Allen if it was the last thing she did—but her thoughts were surprisingly circumspect. Terror of the thought of me hurting Allen or his friendship with Beau overshadowed her own personal feelings.

I was liking Becca more all the time. Allen deserved a nice girl like her—if only I could bully her into accepting my advice. It was unfortunate I had to take such roundabout measures, play the bad guy. But even if Becca wasn't as shy as Allen, she still needed pressing incentive to be induced to act, and an easy, polite conversation just wasn't going to cut it. Sometimes all good people needed to learn how to be courageous was a villain to defeat. And I was good at playing the villain.

"Look," I said, switching to the direct approach, "the fact is that I've already talked to Allen, felt him out a little. And I think he would want to ask you, if he doesn't let himself get roped into that group thing a few of his friends have been trying to put together. But he's far too shy, and he's not one for picking up on subtle hints. Here's my advice: take the initiative. Just come straight out and ask him if he'll ask you."

Becca stared back at me, aghast.

"The way I see it," I went on reasonably, talking over her racing thoughts, "you don't have to risk a whole lot. Catch him alone and ask him. If you want you can even use me. Say, 'Edythe Cullen told me you wanted to ask me to prom. Is that true?'" I shrugged. "Worst case scenario, I'm wrong and he doesn't like you, so he says no. He certainly wouldn't embarrass you by telling anyone else. But I'm not wrong. Trust me, I know how to read people."

Becca didn't respond, and I added airily, "That's my advice. What you have to gain is far more than I'd ever ask for. Of course..." I leaned forward slightly and, lip curling, added in a low voice, "I'll understand if you don't have the guts to even try."

Becca didn't reply, eyes once again on her desk, but inwardly she bristled.

 _Edythe Cullen doesn't know the first thing about guts. Like she's ever had to worry about a guy turning her down._ She hesitated. _But whatever she's up to, I wonder...could she be right? Could Allen like_ me?

As Mr. Goff finally called the class to order, she continued to mull it over. Already I felt her working herself up, steeling herself to take action.

I muttered over my shoulder, "Good luck."

I turned my head back to face the front, smiling to myself in satisfaction. From the tone of Becca's thoughts now, I was fairly certain she would follow through. She knew, whatever I was really after, Allen liking her wasn't something I could manipulate. And she wouldn't have to help me if I asked for anything unethical where Beau was concerned, however I might try to guilt her into it.

There were no other students close enough to have overheard our quiet conversation, only I felt Eleanor eying me from the next seat over like she thought I was crazy.

 _You have a really weird definition of a good deed,_ she thought. _You know that?_

I flashed her a grin, too quick for any humans to see, before I turned my eyes to the front of the room. However, my mind was already elsewhere.

Back over in Gym class, McKayla was already changed and lined up, ready to start. I sought her mind out first because it was the easiest to find—she had calmed herself down again and I was just in time to see her go up to Beau to be his badminton partner.

Beau seemed surprised. _"You don't have to do this, you know,"_ he said.

McKayla smiled back. _"Don't worry, I'll keep out of your way."_ _Friends no matter what,_ she thought. _He'll see that I'm someone he can rely on. And when Edythe Cullen shows her true colors, then..._

I was a little annoyed by the tone of her thoughts, not so much her usual antipathy toward me, but because she seemed to view herself as a kind of martyr in partnering with Beau. I didn't see how she could think herself such a good friend bearing such an attitude.

However, I was more annoyed as the two of them shared a grin, and Beau appeared again surprised and even touched by the gesture.

However, I didn't have time to speculate on what it might mean from the vague fragments of McKayla's memory as they headed out onto the court and took up their places.

As the first game got underway, I was perplexed to see Beau standing unmoving at the back of the court, his racket dangling reluctantly at his side as he watched McKayla race back and fourth while she fended off two opponents at once. The previous night Beau had been all about getting doors for me, and today even wanted to carry my bag, despite knowing better than anyone else that I hardly needed the service. Letting a girl do all the playing seemed unlike him. All McKayla's focus was on the game, so I couldn't get much explanation out of her, except that she didn't seem to resent playing alone—in fact, there seemed to be some kind of unspoken agreement from previous classes where they had partnered together.

While I was puzzling over this, Coach Clapp happened to pass by their game, and she sternly ordered Beau to get out there and play.

Beau reluctantly shuffled forward, holding his racket at an awkward angle. The tone of McKayla's thoughts was suddenly apprehensive.

Justin Ford served the birdie directly toward Beau, thoughts radiating smugness.

Beau lurched for it, but as he swung his racket it went yards wide of the intended target. I saw the trajectory of the racket mesh, and watched helplessly as it struck the net and sprung back at him, giving him a good thwack in the forehead. McKayla, who had rushed forward to try to save the volley, got clipped on the shoulder.

" _Sorry,"_ Beau said, looking really apologetic as he rubbed his forehead.

McKayla, whose shoulder was still smarting, couldn't stay irritated for long when he looked at her with that face.

" _Don't worry about it,"_ she said. _"But maybe you better stay at the back..."_ She glanced over at Coach Clapp, who was facing away. _"Okay?"_

" _Yeah, okay,"_ Beau agreed with a sigh, then retreated meekly back to the farthest corner of the court.

Coach Clapp didn't interfere again—she'd seen the incident out of the corner of her eye and, feeling bad for McKayla, who was one of her favorite students, spent the rest of the period studiously ignoring them. So I wasn't forced to go down and manufacture a reason to get him out of class before he could really hurt himself.

I breezed through the quiz at the end of the hour, and Mr. Goff let me go early. I was listening to McKayla's thoughts intently as I strode across campus toward the gym under a darkening sky. McKayla had made up her mind to ask Beau about me, and find out for sure if we were really dating.

" _So,"_ she began, as the two of them headed off the court.

" _So?"_

" _You and Edythe Cullen, huh?"_ she couldn't quite keep it casual, and the obvious contempt crept into her tone as she said my name.

" _Yeah, me and Edythe Cullen,"_ he answered.

" _I don't like it,"_ she muttered darkly. _Just because she's got the looks and the money...why can't he see what she is?_

" _Well, you don't actually have to."_ An unmistakable cool edge had crept into his tone that McKayla immediately picked up on.

Irritation quickly replaced surprise. _"So she just snaps her fingers and you heel?"_ she demanded with disgust.

" _Guess so."_ His tone was indifferent this time.

McKayla glared at him a second longer, frustrated. _Girls like her always get what they want,_ she seethed as Beau turned his back on her and headed toward the changing rooms. _Why do all the nice guys always fall for—_ she thought several incredibly rude words— _like her?_ _It's not fair._

I leaned against the side of the gym wall, waiting for him to emerge. I considered again the last hour incredulously, and I wondered how someone with such poor coordination had survived this long. And if the flurry of memories I'd gleaned from McKayla's thoughts were any indication, today's incident was just the tip of the iceberg. Combined with his apparent lack of concern for his own safety, perhaps it was just as well I was here. He was a menace to himself and others. Maybe he could use some supernatural intervention—or, as Archie had put it, a guardian angel-vampire.

This thought was enough to ease much of the tension in my frame. I was a danger to him every moment we were together, and yet, if I could somehow discipline myself, make myself safe, then maybe it wouldn't just not be wrong for me to stay. Maybe it would be right—better, safer for him.

The thought made me euphoric.

I saw him come out through the gym doors, his forehead creased in a frown, like he was worried about something. However, the moment he caught sight of me, his entire face lit up and he smiled broadly.

"Hi," he said.

"Hello," I answered, and my smile automatically widened in response to his. Then, unable to help myself, I added, "How was Gym?"

His smile shrank a little, and he regarded me warily. "Fine."

"Really?" I said. I added, my grin turning sly, "How's your head?"

He stared back at me, aghast. "You didn't."

I turned toward the parking lot. "You were the one who mentioned how I'd never seen you in Gym," I pointed out. "It made me curious."

He grimaced. "Great," he muttered. "Fantastic. Well, sorry about that. I don't mind walking home if you don't want to be seen with me."

I laughed, wondering what it was about his chagrined expression I so delighted in summoning. "It was very entertaining. Though I wouldn't have minded if you'd hit that girl just a little harder."

He blinked, confused. "What?"

McKayla had just emerged from the gym and, seeing us together, mentally launched a volley of curses at my back. She was still furious as she turned her back on us and stalked in the opposite direction, forgetting that she would have to go to the parking lot to get to her Suburban.

I couldn't stop myself from glancing over my shoulder at McKayla's retreating back, and Beau followed my gaze.

"It's been a while since someone besides my family thought those kinds of words about me," I noted. "I don't think I like it."

His gaze flickered between me and McKayla once, and his expression turned to one of apprehension, as though he suddenly wondered if he should be concerned for McKayla's safety. Maybe he understood how dangerous I was more than he let on after all—it was just his own safety that didn't concern him.

I couldn't help but laugh. "Don't worry, I wouldn't hurt your friend," I said, and it was true. In spite of the fact I couldn't stand her, and the occasional fantasy I had about burying her out in the woods, I wouldn't hurt anyone that was even slightly important to Beau. I could still hear McKayla's thoughts, growing increasingly sulfuric.

Ignoring her, I added with a smile, "If I did, who else would agree to be your badminton partner?"

He stared at me for another minute, then asked, "What kinds of words has your family been thinking about you?" He was frowning.

I didn't want my careless comments to give him the wrong impression of my family, and I said, "It's not fair to judge people on their thoughts. Those are supposed to be private. It's actions that count." With a few exceptions.

He was still frowning. "I don't know... If you know someone can hear, isn't that the same thing as saying it out loud?"

"Easy for you to say," I said, grinning. "Controlling your thoughts is very difficult. When Royal and I butt heads, I think much worse things about him, and I _do_ say those words out loud." As we no doubt would when I got home this afternoon. However, strangely, I wasn't the least apprehensive. Instead, I laughed again.

We were to my car now. However, our way was partially blocked by a crowd of gawkers ogling Royal's car. Royal's car always attracted attention—which was just how he liked it.

Beau had to squeeze by them to get my door for me, and as I got in I muttered, "Ostentatious." This was precisely why it was better for Royal to only use his car out of town... Not that I had a right to say anything.

As Beau went around to get into the passenger seat, he turned his head back to look one more time. "What kind of car is that?" he wanted to know.

"An M3," I answered, as I tried to back out of the space, and was annoyed to find drooling car enthusiasts in the way. All thoughts were focused on admiration of Royal's car's various features. I wondered if I was going to have to run somebody down before they would notice us here.

Beau frowned. "Um, I don't speak _Car and Driver._ "

It took some fancy turns of the wheel, but finally I got around the crowd and turned us toward the exit. "It's a BMW."

"Okay, I know that one."

We were away from the school now, the road flying away under my tires. It was just the two of us.

Being alone with him in my car reminded me of the previous night. My feelings were strangely mixed—it had been a night of magic and impossibility beyond anything I could have imagined. It was such a release, now that he knew everything, and we could talk plainly about anything we wanted. He knew the truth and he still accepted me.

However, beneath it still lingered a current of anxiety—the anxiety of speaking the monstrous truth, and knowing the possibility that, at any moment, he might go rigid, petrified with fear of me. The anxiety that something I said would trigger something, that he would wake up and realize that what seemed like a wonderful fantasy in the illogical way of dreams was really a nightmare.

"Is it later yet?" he asked, and I knew exactly what he meant. We hadn't been alone five minutes, and already he was determined to push the hard questions.

"I suppose it is," I said reluctantly. I didn't continue, however, and I felt his eyes on me as I stared straight ahead at the road. After everything that I had told him about me that he had barely reacted to, was I afraid this might scare him where nothing else had? Or was I more afraid I _wouldn't_ scare him?

He didn't interrupt my thoughts, only continued to watch me, patiently waiting for an answer.

I still hadn't spoken when we reached his house, and I brought the car to a halt. I stared straight ahead for another few seconds, but I no longer had my driving as an excuse not to look at him, and finally I turned.

"And you want to know why you can't see me hunt?" I asked evenly. However, a touch of a smile twitched at the corner of my mouth. He always wanted to know everything, and he seemed impossible to rattle. Answers that might have made other humans turn and run screaming he answered with a quiet nod, and another question, as if this were an ordinary conversation over tea.

He nodded. "Yes. And why you seemed so...mad when I asked." For a moment his eyebrows tensed with disquiet, and I imagined he was remembering the look on my face.

"Did I frighten you?" I asked. I wondered again if I was finally getting somewhere after all.

"Did you want to?" he asked.

I considered the question. That certainly hadn't been the goal at the time, I simply couldn't contain the emotions that struck me as the idea entered my mind. And yet...his earlier naïve question made me realize I _needed_ to frighten him more than I was. He needed to be made to understand, for his own good.

"Maybe I did," I said at last.

"Okay then, sure, I was terrified," he said agreeably. Like a guy answering his girlfriend asking how a dress made her look—supportive and affirming without the slightest useful or honest feedback.

I smiled slightly with amusement, then forced myself to be serious again.

"I apologize for reacting like that," I said quietly. "It was just the thought of you being near...while we hunted."

He read the nerves in my expression. "That would be bad?" he guessed.

"Extremely."

He wasn't put off by my hard tone, and he pushed, "Because...?"

I sucked in a deep breath, and his scent swirled around me in the enclosed space, burning my throat, trying to muddle my thoughts. Even now, when I was firmly in control of myself, my resolve absolute, the pull was still there, the temptation. The slightest weakness, the slightest distraction...could so easily be fatal.

I raised my eyes to the sky outside the windshield. The dark storm clouds were thick and heavy, blocking out the least bit of light. Would I ever master it? Obtain a control so complete I could trust myself to be safe for him, no matter where I was, no matter what I was doing? Or was it hopeless?

"When we hunt," I said at last, "we give ourselves over to our senses...govern less with our minds. Especially our sense of smell. If you were anywhere near me when I lost control that way..." I let it hang.

My eyes quickly flickered to his face, to see how he would respond. But, there was little reaction. I was slowly coming to expect that—which was dangerous. When the moment finally came when it got to be too much, when he finally heard something he couldn't handle, how much more devastated would I be for having thought myself safe from his rejection?

He didn't look away, only stared into my eyes, and I stared back into his. The tone of the silence seemed to shift—and the strange charge from the Biology room seemed once again to be vibrating in the air. My breathing sped, and though my mind was still thinking with perfect clarity, I felt like I was in a fever, a fog. The magnetic lure to reach out and touch him was almost overpowering.

I remembered the previous night, when he had leaned close, as though to kiss me. If we continued to sit here, would he do the same thing now? What would it feel like, I wondered, to feel his warm lips against mine? Could I do that? Could I find the willpower, the restraint, to be that close, and...

He suddenly sucked in an uneven breath, having forgotten to breathe, for the moment breaking the spell I was under.

I turned away and closed my eyes, trying to get a hold of myself. I remembered suddenly again Archie's vision from the meadow. The green grass, soaked with blood, his pale form limp and broken in my arms. And I wondered if the greater danger wasn't that I would give in to my instincts to kill him, because I wanted his blood—rather, maybe it was this that may well be our downfall. This yearning to be close, and closer still, to love him like a human girl would love him.

The call of his blood was too powerful for me. If I let myself get as close as I wanted to be right now, all it would take was an instant—an instant where my thirst and vampire's instincts won out over my control. A single mistake in one regard would inevitably lead to the other.

I gripped the steering wheel. How, in this moment, I despised what I was. How I wished I could be human again—somehow, someway. It was a useless wish, impossible, but the desperate desire for it crashed over me anyway. I wished I were human. I wished I was a part of his world.

I didn't allow myself to look at his face again, afraid I would once again fall under the spell. Instead, I gazed out at the heavy clouds above.

"Beau, I think you should go inside now," I said. My voice was almost rough with emotion. I was disappointed—I'd been planning on at least an hour or two more, just to sit here and talk. But clearly that wasn't a good idea. Not right now, when the electric impulses humming through me were barely restrained.

He seemed to read the urgency in my voice, because he immediately opened the door without argument and got out. He closed the door and started toward the house, without looking back.

Worried that he might have taken my abruptness as some kind of rebuke, and my head feeling clearer now that he was out of the car, I quickly rolled down the passenger window and called after him, "Oh, Beau?"

He paused and turned partway to meet my eyes again. "Yeah?"

I smiled. "Tomorrow it's my turn."

His eyebrows creased, confused. "Your turn to what?"

My smile spread wider. "Ask the questions."

Then, before I could change my mind and get out, and follow him into his house—or wherever else he might go—I hit the gas and sped off down the street.

I breathed deeply, and his scent still lingered in the car, powerful, intoxicating. The hand where I'd touched him earlier today tingled, and some of those flickers of electricity still sang in the air.

I breathed deeply again, finding my resolve. It was all right—I didn't _need_ to touch him, as much as I might want to. Tomorrow, I was going to ask a lot of questions. I was going to finally begin to learn more about him—this boy who occupied all my thoughts. So long as I could have that, so long as I could be near him, that was enough.

* * *

A/N: And, that's the end of the original Midnight Sun rough draft. From here on the story will be based purely on Life and Death.

Back as I was working on Eclipse, I had the scene from this chapter with Edythe and Becca in mind, and I wondered if it would affect Becca's attitude toward Edythe later. (For the gender swap, I decided to go for a kind of high-handed social manipulation approach from Edythe over Edward's more macho, direct confrontation.) I thought Becca ought to mention something vaguely about it, or almost mention it before getting cut off, probably in that last scene in Chapter 3, Motives. However, I didn't see a way to do it without drawing unnecessary attention to it, so I just left the scene similar to as it was in Eclipse.

From what clues we know of Ben in the original series, he seems to have a pretty good relationship with Edward (or at least doesn't feel an antagonism toward him, unlike Mike), and as I was working on Eclipse, I thought it seemed more natural for Becca to have similar feelings toward Edythe, in contrast to Mckayla.

The story behind Becca's later changed attitude toward Edythe that occurred to me won't be coming up in the story later, at least in any detail, so I think I'll just summarize it here. Basically, I think because things really did end up working out with Allen, and because Edythe never actually asks Becca to make good on the favor, Becca probably suspected that Edythe might actually have really just been trying to help her, even if it was in a bizarre way. Then, after spending time around Edythe in their friend group, and being a first-hand witness to Edythe's real affection toward Beau, she eventually comes to suspect that Edythe did legitimately want some help with Beau at the time, but was unused to interacting with people, and too proud to simply ask for that help in a normal way.

That's it for now. Thanks so much for reading, and all your thoughts and comments! We're getting close to the end now—just three chapters left, plus the epilogue. If you have a moment, let me know what you thought, and see you next time! C:

Posted 1/28/19


	15. Complications

A/N: Back again! I've been putting such intense work into other projects lately I was worried I wouldn't be able to get this out this week. (Especially since the roads decided recently to put a big crack in my car windshield, and apparently that's something you should take care of right away. x3) But I find even when I've been working on other things, it's nice to come back here to this, especially as we get ever closer to wrapping things up and moving onto Breaking Dawn.

Hope you enjoy this next chapter, I'm excited to be beyond the original Midnight Sun rough draft—see you at the end! C:

* * *

Chapter 14: Complications

I knew Royal would be waiting for me at home to bite my head off—in fact, no doubt someone had already told Carine what I had done, and she would be at home too when I arrived, waiting to have a family meeting.

I was in no hurry to get there and, remembering something I had been thinking earlier that day, instead turned the car in the direction of Port Angeles. Archie could always inform the others precisely where I was and when I would arrive, and besides, Royal could use the extra time to cool down.

I turned up the music slightly—it was Debussy in the player—and hummed to myself as I went.

I mulled over the events of the past two days. They were beyond incredible really—something from a dream. They felt like they'd blown by so quickly, and yet, this new state of existence, where Beau knew everything, where much of the time we seemed attached together like glue, felt perfectly natural, as though it had always been that way. I felt submerged in warmth as I went over every look, everything he had said. I savored every breath, every sigh, and stored them all in a place in my mind where they would always be easily accessible. A century from now, I would remember these days as though they were yesterday.

However, I paused on that. A century from now, Beau would be gone. His human life would have come to an end. What would I do then? Even, say, all the precious years of his life he still chose me, wanted to stay with me...eventually, it would come to an end. What then?

I shook my head. It was too early to worry about that yet. I'd only had two days of my allotted time with him. I had many more days left—even if I knew they would slip by all too quickly.

When I reached Port Angeles, I went directly to the largest bookstore in town, with the broadest selection. Looking back at the incident yesterday, how he'd paused at the new-age bookstore, I guessed his errand had been to look at some books. I knew he was a reader, and this was probably the store he would have wanted, if he'd known where it was.

Before, when I'd gone to his room at night to watch over him as he slept, I'd kept my distance, afraid of what might happen if I ventured too close. But last night I'd finally trusted myself enough to take the chance and, holding my breath just to be sure, I'd gone right up to his bed, and looked through the titles of books he left stacked there, and the neat pile of CD cases beside the CD player, also beside the bed. I could tell the books were all his favorites, because the covers were worn and the bindings were heavily creased.

At the bookstore, I bought a copy of every book I had seen, and next I drove to the music store, where I took one of every CD that he owned, and slotted them into the CD storage compartment. As I drove back toward Forks, I smiled to myself, satisfied. I doubted I would have time today, but when I did get some time, I would read all the books and listen to all the music. That would give us something else to talk about. I was eager to hear his opinions on his favorite things...

As I turned my car down the meandering path to our house, I heard the thoughts long before I reached it. That quickly put an end to my pleasant mood. I glanced up at the sky again—still dark, still threatening a storm. It was the perfect atmosphere for the mood at the Cullen house. Of course, Royal's mental voice was several decibels louder than anyone else's, and drowned out the others—I would have to get closer before I heard everything.

I carefully parked my car in the garage, then walked with deliberate slowness up to the house, making my face calm, composed.

As I had expected, Archie had told them exactly when I would arrive, and they were all already assembled in the dining room. Carine was there, sitting at the head, her face gentle, but grave, and Earnest sat beside her, his face full of concern for me as he watched me enter. Royal, meanwhile, had gone to sit opposite from Carine, and he was coiled as an African lion ready to spring, radiating open ferocity, while Eleanor sat beside him, though quick to shoot an apologetic look my way. Jessamine stood a little ways back from the table, and her eyes followed me as I walked to my usual place at Carine's left and sat down, her expression impassive.

In short, the arrangements were similar to what they were before—except for one difference, which disturbed me. Archie was not sitting with us, rather, he sat in the middle, neither with Royal, nor with us, but precisely halfway between. He was not grinning his usual grin, and he looked almost as serious as Carine. He turned his gaze to stare right at me. _You know what they're going to say, Edy. What are you going to do?_

I wanted to ask him whose side he was on, because from his thoughts it still wasn't clear. He was conflicted—still troubled by his vision in the meadow. Even though he and Beau had never officially met, he already viewed him as a friend. He was afraid—afraid of the possible future.

I shifted my eyes away from him, abruptly angry. What he saw would never happen. What right did he have to be so worried? How could he compare his friendship that was still hazy, unrealized shadows to my burning, all-consuming inferno of passion? He didn't need Beau, _love_ Beau like I did. If he couldn't stand the thought of Beau being hurt, how much more would it destroy me? It would never happen—I wouldn't let it.

It was Royal who spoke first.

"Well," he began in a growl, "as we all know, our _sister—_ " he spat the word as though it were a curse— "has taken it upon herself to share our most closely guarded secrets with an outsider. A human. I think we'd all like to hear what she has to say for herself."

I sat up straight in my chair, folding my hands in my lap.

"As I think Archie already explained," I began calmly, "I ran into an unexpected situation. His life was in danger, and it took...fairly extreme measures to rescue him. As he'd already proven himself capable of keeping a secret, I didn't see any harm in explaining things a little."

"A little!" Royal scoffed. "You told him _everything!_ "

"Sometimes secrets are easier to keep when you know what they are," I answered evenly. I went on before Royal could object, "Besides, I'd already made up my mind to tell him at some point—it was only fair."

Royal's eyes narrowed. In a low, dangerous voice, he said, "So, you decided that was a decision you were free to make on your own, did you? As though it doesn't affect _every single one of us_."

"He has to know," I said again. "If I'm going to be around him, he has to know to be careful."

Royal opened his mouth to answer, but to both our surprise, it was Jessamine who spoke.

"And has it worked?" she asked. She stood back, leaning against the wall, her arms folded. " _Has_ he been more careful around you?" She stared at me, her eyes boring into mine.

I hesitated.

"No matter what you've told him, he's not afraid of you," Jessamine said. "I feel that much—he's afraid of _us_ , but not of you. How many close calls have you had already?"

I didn't answer.

Jessamine unfolded her arms and pushed herself up from the wall. She came to stand by the table, beside Royal and Eleanor.

"You've made this far too public, Edythe," she said quietly. "If you make a mistake now—"

"I won't make a mistake," I interrupted. "I'll be careful. I'm always careful."

Jessamine's face was hard, but beneath the anger she felt toward me for placing Archie in danger, what she felt was mostly pity.

"No precaution you take will be enough," she said. "Not when he lacks the proper fear to keep his distance. You _will_ eventually make a mistake, Edythe. Even if it's not tomorrow, even if it's not this weekend—a month from now, a year from now, your concentration may waver. And the humans, knowing you were with him, will suspect something. They already unconsciously fear us, feel that we are unnatural—you know what a delicate thing it is, maintaining this facade. It would be too easy to break."

I was distracted for a moment, by her mention of this weekend. My eyes flickered to Archie.

He met my gaze, and shrugged one shoulder imperceptibly. _Sorry, Edy. You know I don't agree with her on everything about Beau, but—I think this is one outing you should skip. Take it slow. Don't get overconfident._

I turned my eyes back to Jessamine, and I felt that same flicker of irritation as before.

"I won't make a mistake," I repeated, more firmly this time. "Not a single mistake—ever."

Jessamine gazed back at me for a long moment. "Who knows?" she asked quietly at last. "Who knows you are going with him on this trip? This weekend."

The others glanced at her. Archie hadn't told anyone else about my plans for Saturday.

My eyes dropped to the table. "No one," I said, in a very low voice.

She nodded. "Good. I advise you to keep it that way."

My eyes flashed back up to hers, furious at the coldness in her tone. As if—as if it would somehow be better, if I murdered him or killed him by accident and no one knew it was me.

Rationally, I knew what she meant. I knew it would be better for my family, safer, if it happened that way. And yet, it felt impossible to be rational—impossible to get past the thought that his death was intolerable no matter how it happened. That if he died, nothing else that happened in the world could possibly matter. Everything would lose all meaning.

Jessamine watched me, and I could feel it as she felt the emotions swirling like a storm inside me, wild, violent, so mixed up it was impossible to tell one from the other. Fury and love and fear and hope and longing and anguish and guilt—

"You are not in control of yourself," Jessamine said quietly. "You are not thinking. Your mind is clouded."

"No," I tried to argue, shaking my head. I forced my voice to be calm, steady, even as the emotions continued to spin dizzily in my mind, each vying for my attention. "No, it's going to be fine. I know what I'm doing."

Royal made a scathing noise, and Eleanor's eyes flickered back and forth between Jessamine and me, wondering if Jessamine was right.

"There is only one solution I see," Jessamine said. "And that is to create a deadline. Place a limit on the time you will have to resist his blood. A year, maybe two—and then change him. That is the only way he will ever be safe from you. That is the only future Archie sees where the path no longer diverges into two."

I stared back at her for a moment. Then my gaze turned to Archie. His face was calm, smooth. The image of the future played once again in his mind... Beau, his face the alabaster white of our kind, his eyes a crimson red. Hard as stone and cold as ice.

I knew why Archie was sitting in the middle of the table. He wasn't worried about how public this was becoming, or that I'd told Beau our secrets—but he did agree with Jessamine on one thing. He wanted that future, too.

I shoved back from the table and I was suddenly on my feet. I glared around at all of them, my furious gaze shifting from one face to the next. Then, without a word, I stalked from the room, and out through the front door.

As I passed the treeline into the woods, I picked up speed, eager to be away from the sickening swirl of thought. Fury and despair rose inside me, threatening to overtake me.

It was easy for them to say that. As Eleanor had said, it would be the best thing for us, for me—and yet, I knew the minds of my family better than anyone. And I knew, deep down, that there was not a one of us who didn't secretly long to be human again. Unlike others of our kind, we would have given anything for it. Burn for however many days, or centuries, if only we could. Even Eleanor, who enjoyed our way of life more than the others, sometimes imagined a human life with Royal, what it would have been like, and she missed the life she knew she would never have.

This immortal life was not one to be envied. Either it was a life of hard denial, as we lived it, or it was one of sickening indulgence, gluttony—I had lived that life once, as had Jessamine, and in spite of the difficulties of restraint and denial, that had been by far the most wretched.

Was I going to inflict this soulless, damned existence on Beau too? Just so I could keep him for myself? The sacrifices I was asking from him were unreasonable enough already. Would I ask for the ultimate sacrifice now as well? Even if he didn't despise me for it later, I knew—if I went through with it, I would never stop hating myself.

I slowed to a stop. I was far from the house now, and the thoughts of my family were more distant. All except one.

She followed slowly at a distance, and I waited for her to catch up to me. When she noticed I had halted, she slowed and approached cautiously.

"Edythe?" Carine said softly. She waited, ready to turn back in a moment if I said I wanted to be alone. She debated whether following me was right, what I needed, or if anything she might say might only hurt me further.

"Carine," I answered quietly. I didn't turn, gazing out into the woods. It was still dark overhead, the clouds so thick it looked almost like night. However, the rain had yet to fall—still only the threat of a storm.

"Am I doing the right thing, Carine?" I asked suddenly.

Carine paused. "The decision is yours, Edythe," she said softly at last. "If you trust yourself to be alone with him on Saturday...I trust your judgment."

I shook my head, and finally I turned to face her. My eyes were wide, and she saw the writhing anguish burning in their depths.

"Archie was right," I said suddenly in a rush. "I can't stay away from him. That month that I tried—it just kept getting worse. More intense all the time. I know what the right thing to do for him is, but—"

But I was too happy when I was near him. Too happy when I with him, speaking to him, and he wasn't afraid of me. Too euphoric when I contemplated the next time I would see him, too anxious and miserable when we were apart.

All my intense feelings of love for him—the selfish always seemed to overpower the selfless. It was a dark love, a sinister love, which, if it stayed the way it was, would surely destroy him.

I pressed a hand to my mouth, and a strangled, animalistic sound escaped it.

Then I breathed deeply, trying to get a hold of myself. When I raised my gaze to Carine again, her eyes were kind. She reached out, and touched my hand with the very tips of her fingers.

"I'm proud of you, Edythe," she said softly.

I stared back at her, surprise for a moment cutting into my despair. It seemed a strange thing to say, given the circumstances. Given that I had just thoughtlessly put the entire family in danger, and given the monster that I was, choosing my own wants over the welfare of that which I loved most. But I felt in her thoughts that the sentiment was entirely sincere. She swelled with it as she gazed at me, overcome with a love and compassion I didn't deserve.

 _You will do the right thing,_ she thought.

I shook my head. "I don't know that I will, Carine," I whispered.

Her expression didn't change. _Even when you make mistakes, Edythe, you do the right thing in the end._

I shivered. "I can't make any mistakes, Carine," I whispered, and my face twisted in pain as Archie's vision once again filled my mind.

Carine touched her fingers gently to my face, and I gazed up into her eyes.

 _This path you've chosen will not be easy,_ she thought. _But if anyone has the will to see it through without tragedy, I think it's you, Edythe. Because you understand your choices. You take responsibility. You are so much more than I ever could have hoped for in a daughter. Find your happiness, Edythe—that is all I hope for. And no matter what, you will always be my daughter._

I didn't answer, didn't nod or smile. I only closed my eyes for the briefest moment, letting myself absorb the feeling of her touch on my face, the warmth of her unwavering support.

Her hand lingered there a moment longer, before at last she drew back a step. Smiling sadly for the torment I was now enduring, yet with a light of hope that shone beneath it, she turned slowly away. I watched her disappear into the dense, murky forest.

Not for the first time, I wondered what I would be if not for Carine. If not for the ideals she had taught me, the example that had shown me what I might aspire to that I had tried to live by for so many decades, what sort of monster would I be? Without Carine's influence, I knew that, without a doubt, if I had run into Beau I would have killed him without a moment's hesitation.

If Carine had not already had all my love and gratitude before all this, that alone would have been enough to win them.

There were so many things I wanted, and also things I didn't want. I wanted to love him enough to never hurt him, to be able to stay with him and make him happier than he would have been without me. I didn't want to disappoint Carine, even if she would love me no matter what. I didn't want to hurt him, or take his human life from him. I didn't want to make him miserable. Was my will strong enough? My love?

I went hunting yet again that evening—staying close, sticking to easier, less delectable prey. Then, as I had every previous night I was close by, I went to his house. I wondered, after today, how many times he would say my name tonight, and I thrilled at the thought.

He didn't sleep well. He seemed agitated, tossing back and forth. He woke more than once, saying my name aloud, and I was sure he must have seen me, sitting here—but apparently he couldn't see me in the darkness, because he always settled back, punching his pillow as though to mash it into a more comfortable shape. It wasn't until a few hours before dawn he finally settled into a deep sleep, too tired to dream anymore.

I was solemn and contemplative as I went back home early in the morning to change into fresh clothes and get my car—assuming it was still there, as I imagined Royal was still ticked off at me—as I wondered what torments I was continuing to put him through. Perhaps though his conscious mind wasn't afraid of me, his subconscious had a little more sense. He'd said when he dreamed about me they were definitely not nightmares—and yet, after everything I'd told him, I knew how soon that could change. I wondered if he dreamed about me hunting. About bears and mountain lions and...

I left the thought off where it was and shook my head. My time with him was limited—I didn't want to waste even a moment worrying over that which I couldn't know about.

I heard the indistinct sound of Charlie Swan's thoughts as I neared the house, and I slowed, timing my arrival in his driveway just as Chief Swan's cruiser was disappearing around the corner. I didn't exactly understand Beau's desire not to share things with his father. He seemed unreasonably afraid of the possibility of awkward questions—especially unreasonable, considering he was consorting with vampires, and that didn't seem to bother him a bit.

I settled in to wait for him to finish getting ready, but I'd been there barely a few seconds before I heard the thumping of feet running on the stairs, and he appeared in the doorway, bag slung over his shoulder.

He eagerly slid into the passenger's seat, snapping his belt into place.

"Good morning," I said. "How are you today?" I glanced at the circles beneath his eyes. However, his aspect seemed cheerful enough.

"Good, thank you," he answered, and there was nothing off about his tone to signal a lie.

"You look tired," I observed, a little hesitantly.

He smiled, rueful. "I couldn't sleep." Again, his face held no sign of an attempt to conceal anything.

I laughed, relieved—maybe his restlessness last night had been from excitement rather than nightmares. "Neither could I."

I started up the car and backed out of the drive.

He was grinning—he just looked happy to be here. "I guess that's right," he said. "I probably did get more sleep than you."

When the two of us were here together like this, joking, acting a bit silly, it was hard to believe any of this could be wrong. Not when everything felt so right with the world.

"I would wager you did," I said dryly.

He glanced at me. "So what did you do last night?" he asked curiously.

I laughed again. If only he knew.

"Not a chance," I answered. "It's my day to ask questions."

"Oh, that's right," he said, remembering. His eyebrows furrowed. "What do you want to know?"

I had about ten thousand questions all clamoring for attention, so I decided not to waste a single moment prioritizing—my time was limited, and I had to get in as many as I could.

"What's your favorite color?" I shot at him.

He stared at me. Then he shrugged. "It changes."

"What is it today?" I pressed.

"Um, probably...gold, I guess."

It was such a relief to be able to ask my own questions—how frustrating it had been to try to learn about his tastes through his conversations with McKayla. She only ever asked general questions, and was never pushy enough to try to get at the details I was really eager to know. And I'd never been sure if he was totally honest with McKayla all the time, either. Now I could give full reign to my greedy, voracious curiosity.

"Is there anything material behind your choice, or is it random?"

He looked embarrassed. "It's the color of your eyes today. If you asked me in a week, I'd probably say black."

I glanced at him, surprised he had picked that up, not just on the eye color change, which he had already mentioned before, but the timing of it. He really was exceptionally observant. However, I knew if I commented on it, he'd get us sidetracked into a conversation about vampire eyes, and there was no way I was going to let myself get sucked into answering his questions when it was my turn.

"What music is in your CD player right now?" This question I already knew, as I had gone through his CD collection the night before last. However, I wasn't ready to reveal that yet, and I planned to use it as a lead-in to grill him on his tastes in music.

When he named the band, I drew the same CD out of my own compartment and showed it to him. If he was surprised, he didn't show it.

I had listened to the band briefly on the way over—they were certainly different from the kind of band I would have expected Beau to like, but then, he was always full of surprises, and there wasn't any reason he couldn't enjoy a variety.

"Debussy to this?" I said, raising an eyebrow, with a bit of an ironic smile.

He shrugged. "Even if you don't like it at first, it grows on you after awhile. It's great if there's something you don't want to think about—or you don't want to think, period."

I glanced down at the CD. "I see your point," I said. There was definitely enough screaming in the mix for that.

I kept the questions going all the way to school, and right up to the door of his first class. Then I met him and walked him to each of his classes for the opportunity for more. During my own classes I mentally prepared my list. It was more exhilarating than I could have imagined. Some of his likes and opinions were expected, based on what I had observed of him so far, while others seemed to come out of left field. His least favorite movies were mostly chick flicks his mother had forced him to see with her—he talked with some affectionate exasperation on this subject. He liked action movies, though as far as horror movies went, he preferred the classics. Newer flicks with endless blood and gore weren't really his thing. I also knew he liked to read, so I spent a lot of time there—I wanted to know how he felt about each of the books he kept in his pile of favorites. I would read through every one of them later.

I spent the happiest half hour of my existence at lunch—I questioned him almost nonstop, only pausing now and again to force him to eat something. I also asked him questions about his favorite foods and flavors. He was a cook, and he seemed to have a lot of opinions on this, but he gave only brief answers. I made a mental note to grill him more thoroughly on this topic when we had more time.

I was disappointed when the first bell rang, and it was time to go to class. Of course, we had Biology together, but we wouldn't be able to talk. I wondered if I could get one or two more short ones in before class started...

Before we had gotten up, I saw him glance back over his shoulder, suddenly looking apprehensive. Then he turned back to me. "There's one question you haven't asked me yet."

I smiled a little. "More than one, actually, but which specific one are you looking for?"

He frowned. "The most embarrassing thing I've ever done."

This was one I hadn't thought of and I appreciated it. I wondered if this was a sign he would soon start volunteering information.

My smile was brilliant. "Is it a spectacular story?"

"I'm not sure yet," he muttered. "I'll tell you in five minutes."

He shoved back from the table, and I watched, perplexed, as he strode across the cafeteria, toward where his friends were just starting to rise to their feet.

I could see his face through their eyes. Splotches of red were blooming across his cheeks, and based on what he had said, I assumed it was from embarrassment. And yet his expression was almost...angry?

There were times when not knowing what he was thinking was frustrating. Other times I was certain if curiosity could kill, I would already be long dead and buried.

His friends were equally mystified. They watched him approach, and no one seemed to know what to expect.

"Taylor, can I have a minute?" he asked as he came to a stop in front of her. He said it out loud, so everyone was watching. His face was burning—he hated this kind of attention. What on earth?

"Sure, Beau," Taylor answered, her thoughts too bewildered to form any theories.

"Look," he said, "I can't do this anymore."

Everything abruptly went very quiet. Everyone seemed to realize at exactly the same time what this had to be about. The prom situation.

McKayla was staring at Beau, slightly shocked. _He isn't seriously going to do it like this, is he?_ she thought. _When I said_ man up, _I didn't mean act like a jerk. What's going on? This isn't like him at all._

McKayla's eyes flashed to me, still sitting at our table. _Oh, she didn't_.

In truth, I was almost as stunned as McKayla. She was right, this wasn't like Beau. Was he going to turn Taylor down so publicly for my sake? Did he think I would have asked this of him?

Taylor's eyes were round. "What?"

Beau's scowl was fierce—so fierce it looked almost put on.

"I'm tired of being a pawn in your game, Taylor," he said.

There was a smattering of confused thought at this opening.

Beau went on, "Do you realize that I have feelings of my own? And all I can do is watch as you use me to make someone else jealous."

His eyes went very obviously to Logan, who was staring with his mouth agape, then back to Taylor. "You don't care if you break my heart in the process. Is it being beautiful that's made you so cruel?"

Taylor stared back at him, thoughts barely coherent.

McKayla gaped, incredulous. _She can't really buy that, can she? I mean, he's so obviously into Edythe Cullen. Then again...this_ is _Taylor we're talking about._

"I'm not going to play anymore," he continued. "This whole prom charade? I'm out. Go with the person you really want to be with."

He glared at Logan again, then stalked out of the cafeteria, slamming through the double doors and disappearing from sight.

There was a moment of silence. However, all thoughts were yammering at once.

 _Wow._ _I had no idea he felt like that. I didn't even know I was toying with him, but I guess I better stop before I hurt anyone else._ Taylor.

 _That was the stupidest thing I ever saw._ Logan. _He's right of course, Taylor never could have been serious about a dweeb like him._

 _That was actually kind of cool, but am I missing something?_ Jeremy.

McKayla was staring straight at me with furious, accusing eyes. _Did she put him up to that? Some kind of ultimatum if he didn't turn Taylor down in front of everyone somehow she was going to dump him? The witch! Is she going to keep making him do stupid, embarrassing things just to keep herself entertained? Taylor only bought that speech because she's dumb as a sack of rocks. What would he have done if she called him out?_ Why _does he put up with her?_

I realized I was still sitting at the table, as stunned as everyone else, and I rose and swiftly exited the cafeteria.

I caught up to Beau easily, though his fast gait now looked more like running away than stalking. His face was beat red and his eyes were wide, as though he couldn't believe he just did that.

"That was truly spectacular," I murmured.

He blinked and seemed to come out of shock. He took a deep breath to steady himself. "Maybe a little over the top. Did it work?"

I let my mind flicker back briefly to Taylor.

"Like a charm," I reported. "Taylor's feeling quite the femme fatale, and she's not even sure why. If Logan doesn't ask her to prom by Monday, I'll be surprised."

The red was finally staring to fade from his face. He looked relieved, and satisfied. "Good."

I smiled. Overall, this had been an interesting side-note in the conversation, and Beau seemed happy at being freed from obligation to Taylor without making her feel bad. But I hadn't forgotten my purpose.

"And now back to you...would you say you prefer salty or sweet?"

* * *

I continued on the food line of questioning as we went into Biology and sat down, and I didn't let up until Mrs. Banner entered the room, dragging the frame with the television again.

I hoped today might be easier than the previous day, now that I was mentally prepared for it—but if anything, the sparking electricity that seemed at once exhilarating and also unbearably torturous seemed to have intensified. I tried pulling my chair further from his, and when that had no effect, Beau, evidently feeling what I was feeling, tried to relieve the tension by leaning over and casually pressing his shoulder against mine. He must have felt as I did that only made it worse, because he soon leaned forward away from me, staring at the screen with an expression of intense concentration, as though _Lorenzo's Oil_ was the most compelling story he had ever seen.

When Mrs. Banner finally turned the lights back on, Beau sighed and his shoulders relaxed. He hadn't even looked at me the entire hour, but now he did. Our eyes met, and I couldn't read his expression.

I didn't ask him any questions as we headed toward his Gym class. Guilt was gnawing at me again—seeing with my own eyes the torment I was putting him through, even now. And feeling my own impulses I knew I must not give into lurking beneath the surface.

However, as we stopped in front of the gym, I lingered there, gazing up into his face. Once again, knowing I was about to be parted from his again, however briefly, I momentarily gave into temptation. Reaching up, I lightly stroked his face with the back of my hand, from the edge of his hairline down to the curve of his jaw. My hand felt warm where it came into contact with his skin, almost burning as I longed to curve my hand around his face, and perhaps feel his hand around mine.

I pulled my hand back and quickly strode away, before I could succumb to any more of my fantasies.

I spent the final period watching Beau in his Gym class again. Coach Clapp had told everyone to keep their partners from last time, so he and McKayla played on the same badminton team again. This time, Beau stayed far back out of the action, and Coach Clapp pretended not to notice.

McKayla was still thinking about the incident in the lunch room with Taylor, and the way Beau had spoken yesterday. And when she saw Beau come wandering into the gym, his face dazed, distracted, she decided there was no point trying to communicate with him today—not when he was still under my evil spell.

For some reason, I found McKayla's intense dislike of me comforting in its familiarity, and just a little amusing, enough that it momentarily shook me from my darker contemplations. I watched her play badminton alone against her opponents, playing even better than she had the previous day—likely helped by the fact that she was imagining each of the birdie heads had my face.

Once again, I finished early in Spanish, and went to wait out by the gym for him to get out. And, just as yesterday, as soon as he saw me, his face split into a wide smile.

I started in on the questions again. There was a new vein I hadn't tapped yet, which I was dying to know—his old life, his life before Forks. His life in Phoenix, with his mother.

I didn't ask quite as many questions now, as the questions required longer answers. I asked mainly about places—what the landscape was like, and his old home.

I was delighted when I hit on some topics that really got his enthusiasm going, and he spoke for a long time without needing me to prod him with more questions.

The sun slipped across the sky far too fast, and before long it had begun to darken. Our time was already up—it felt like seconds.

When he finished talking on the last topic—his old room back in Phoenix—he waited for my next question, but when I didn't say anything he turned to me.

"Are you finished?" he asked, looking relieved, as though he had just spent a day of hard labor.

I sighed. "Not even close—but your father will be home soon."

He blinked. "How late is it?"

I gazed at the western horizon, the red light of the setting sun glowing against the clouds.

"It's twilight," I said softly.

Twilight. The time when the day drew to a close. No matter how perfect the day, how wonderful, how magical, it eventually had to come to an end. No fantasy could last forever—eventually, my own personal fantasy would come to its twilight, too. And then it would be over.

He was watching me, studying my expression.

"It's the safest time of day for us," I said. "The easiest time. But also the saddest, in a way...the end of another day, the return of the night. Darkness is so predictable, don't you think?" I tried to smile, but I couldn't quite keep the melancholy from my voice.

"I _like_ the night," he said, glancing back at me. "Without the dark, you'd never see the stars." He suddenly frowned, thinking. "Not that you see them here much." He eyed the heavy clouds on the horizon with distaste.

I laughed, and I wondered if he understood the philosophical underpinnings of my thoughts about the twilight, and if his response was meant to be taken metaphorically, too—I wouldn't be surprised.

"Charlie will be here in a few minutes," I said, smiling. "So, unless you want to tell him that you'll be with me Saturday..."

As much as I knew Charlie's knowledge would add extra risk to my family's safety, I couldn't help but hope Beau would tell his father. That someone, somewhere, would know where he was and with who. Maybe I just wanted to see Beau being careful, taking precautions—doing everything he could to keep himself safe.

However, it was a useless hope, and I already expected his response.

"Thanks but no thanks." He gathered up his things, slinging his bag over his arm as he reluctantly prepared to get out. "So is it my turn tomorrow, then?"

I feigned outrage. "Certainly not! I told you I wasn't done, didn't I?"

He wasn't intimidated by my pretend anger, but he did look a little incredulous. "What more is there?"

I grinned. "You'll find out tomorrow."

He blinked. He didn't answer, only stared at me, his eyes suddenly losing a little bit of their focus.

Again, as though he were in a trance, he raised a hand toward me, and leaned closer.

I drew back sharply against the car door, before he could get as close as he had the last time—and I wondered how many times this scene was going to repeat.

He jumped slightly, coming out of it, and he quickly pulled his hand back.

"Sorr—" he began.

 _...totally love this excuse. You rock, Bonnie._

 _...should be back soon at this time of day. We shouldn't have to wait long._

I heard the approaching thoughts—it was the name in the first set of thoughts that got my attention. Bonnie. Thanks to Beau, I knew that name.

I turned my head sharply to stare out the windshield through the rain, and I saw in the distance—a little black Sedan, quickly approaching.

"Oh no," I whispered. Bonnie Black—one of the Quileute elders. If she saw me here, with Beau, there would be trouble. No one mistrusted us like they did, and the treaty was tenuous enough as it was.

Beau looked confused, unable to see what I saw through the gloom. "What's wrong?"

I gritted my teeth, then turned to meet his eyes for a brief second. "Another complication."

I quickly leaned across him and shoved his door open. My sudden movement, or perhaps just the sudden unexpected proximity, set his heart racing just as my ear passed his chest, and I jerked back at the sound of hot rushing blood.

He raised his eyes and was finally able to make out the headlights of the car.

"Hurry," I pushed, though I knew it was already too late.

At my tone he immediately got out, into the heavy rain.

However, by then the car had just about reached us, and for a moment the light of the headlights washed across me. I could see the two figures in the front seat. One, a teenage girl—judging from her thoughts, she was Bonnie Black's daughter, Jules Black, the girl who had told Beau about the legends. The other, an older woman, had streaks of gray in her dark hair and weathered russet skin folded like leather. Bonnie Black.

In the instant the light hit the car, she saw me. Her eyes widened in shock, horrified recognition washing across her face.

 _...Charlie's boy, mixed up with one of those? I've got to warn him, before it's too late. Before that monster..._

I stared back into her eyes, and my face was suddenly fierce. Let her know what I was doing—I wasn't breaking any rules of the treaty. And let her try to split Beau from me. He already knew everything—everything, and he accepted it. There was nothing she could do.

I set the gearshift and hit the gas in the same moment, and in an instant I was off down the road and away into the fading evening light.

* * *

A/N: For some reason, I always love those Cullen meetings.

In the original Twilight and also in Life and Death, the 'Debussy to this' conversation was always one that left me a bit confused. (Edward/Edythe just happen to have the same CD lying around in their collection? Is it supposed to somehow be a comment on their shared interests, like Debussy? But the comment, 'Debussy to this?' sounds more like a response to Bella/Beau's preferences, rather than indicating a real coincidence.)

Because Bella/Beau seem to show little sign of obvious surprise and we get no thought processes on it, it's always felt a little ambiguous to me. I decided it made the most sense as kind of a clue to the level of Edward/Edythe's stalking, and I just liked the idea of seeing another instance of Edythe being interested in Beau's interests.

Thanks for reading! If you have a moment, let me know what you thought, and see you next time! C:

Posted 2/25/19


	16. Preparations

A/N: Another long chapter, though this time that's more my fault than the sticking-to-original-conversations issue. For some reason, I ended up wanting to add a lot in...

Hope you enjoy, and see you at the end! :J

* * *

Chapter 15: Preparations

My hands gripped the steering wheel, but as I put some distance between myself and the Quileute elder, I relaxed a little.

There was nothing to worry about. Bonnie Black and the other members of the council might not like what was going on, but it wasn't as though they could do anything about it. The great wolves that once protected their land were no more. As near as we could tell, none of the Quileute teenage girls had changed in decades, not since the last pack. They may have passed down the legends, but they were powerless.

Besides, I wasn't technically breaking the rules, not according to the treaty. It meant little, if Bonnie Black was aware of what I was doing.

I stopped back home to drop off my car. However, I thought it might not be a good idea to go inside—not when I'd probably just set Royal off again. Instead, I reached over and slowly twisted the knob on the stereo, turning the music back up again. It was still the CD that Beau had in his player, and I leaned my head back against the seat, closing my eyes.

For a long minute, the screaming, loud beat of drums and twanging electric guitar filled the silence, and the corner of my lips twitched in a smile. Beau was right—this was good music if you didn't want to think.

I heard his thoughts as he approached, so when the passenger door opened, I wasn't surprised.

"Nice music," said a cheerful voice. "I love this band. It's great to see you expanding your tastes. He's such a good influence on you."

Sighing, I turned the music down and opened my eyes to see Archie sliding into the passenger seat, pulling the door shut behind him.

I turned my gaze to face the front, before I let my eyes slide closed again. "It grows on you after awhile," I said absently.

Archie didn't immediately speak, and for several moments, nothing but the quiet sound of a guttural human voice screaming indecipherably filled the car.

"So," Archie said at last. "You're still doing Saturday, huh?"

I hesitated. "Yes." I didn't offer any excuse or argument—I knew full well there wasn't one, not one that either Archie or I would buy.

A deep sigh blew from his mouth. "Guess I can't stop you."

As he glanced my way, I saw my own face in his thoughts. My eyes were closed, and I could have almost looked relaxed, even peaceful—if not for the unmistakable tension in my jaw.

"That day is going to make all the difference," he said at last, staring out at the dark garage. "Right now, you're caught up in this careful balancing act. Together, yet...not together. You've been trying to keep your distance, keep him from getting too close. But Saturday, you won't. You're going to get close. That's decided. The only question is whether, when you do, your control will be all the stronger for it—or it'll be too much, and you'll kill him. Saturday will be the turning point."

In spite of the horror of what he was saying, the potential for disaster, I felt a small smile curve my lips. "Archie, why do I get the feeling you've been seeing things that are supposed to be private?"

He laughed a little. "All I have to do is take a glance at either of your possible futures when you're in Biology to know what you're dying to do. And he's dying to do."

My grin widened. "He'd probably be embarrassed if he knew what you could see."

"But not you, huh?"

"You should know by now, Archie. I'm shameless."

He laughed out loud this time. "True, that." He paused, then added suddenly, "You should introduce me to Beau tomorrow."

My eyes flashed open, and my smile was abruptly a scowl. "Archie, I told you—"

"Hey," he said, eyebrows raised, "if you're going to kill him on Saturday, it's only fair I get to meet him at least once, right?"

I flinched at the words, and glanced away. I took a slow, steadying breath. "Okay...maybe," I allowed.

"By the way," he said, "I'm going hunting tomorrow. It's about time for me. You should come with—might as well do everything you can to prepare, right?"

I nodded slowly. "Yeah. That's probably a good idea." I already knew gorging myself on animal blood didn't help all that much when he was near, but it would make me feel better. To know I'd done everything I could.

"We'll make it big, all afternoon," he said. "I'll come and get you after lunch tomorrow."

I hesitated, reluctant to have any of my time with Beau cut short.

As though reading my mind, he rolled his eyes. "Come on. You'll get to ask all your questions before school, and during lunch, so you won't be losing that much time—besides, I don't know if I could stand to watch either of you suffer through another Biology class."

I considered a second longer, before my shoulders slumped slightly. "Okay. After lunch, then."

He grinned. "Sounds like a plan. See you then." He started to climb out of the car, then paused and looked back a moment. He grinned. "You know, Edy, if you _don't_ kill him—I think it's going to be awesome."

Then he was gone, disappearing through the rain back to the house.

I sighed, closing my eyes again and leaning back. I breathed deeply, and his scent, still lingering in the car, burned my nose and throat. Saturday—if I could just make it past Saturday. The turning point.

I turned up the music again, and let the screaming voices and heavy metal instruments try to drown out my thoughts.

* * *

Unlike the previous night, his sleep seemed much more peaceful. He didn't toss and turn, and didn't wake up even once—for that, I was relieved. I didn't like to see him looking so under-rested. Instead, I simply sat in my chair, watching his face. Memorizing every perfectly formed feature, as if I hadn't already, and wondering if he was dreaming, and if he was, if I was in his dreams...

The next morning, I brought the car around, as before timing it so I pulled into the drive the moment Charlie's cruiser was out of sight. Beau was out the door a second later, bag over his shoulder, and he was smiling hugely as he got into the passenger seat.

"How did you sleep?" I asked.

He shrugged. "Fine. How was your night?"

"Pleasant," I said, smiling.

"Can I ask what you did?"

"No." My smile was already widening into a grin. "Today is still _mine._ "

I forced myself to drive a little slower today—I wanted more time, and I thought he seemed more relaxed, quicker to answer more fully when we were alone. People were on the agenda today—I wanted to know about as many he'd known in his life before my time was up.

I wanted to know about his mother first. He had more than a few stories of situations his mother and her harebrained schemes had gotten him into. However, it wasn't always entirely her fault—she was very attractive, not just for her age, but for anyone, and Beau found himself recalling once when he and his mother had gone to parent-teacher conferences, and a sleazy guy from Beau's class had come up and started hitting on her. It was one of the few times Beau recalled ever feeling like he really wanted to punch someone. He might have, if one of the teachers hadn't intervened.

I laughed at that, but this story made me think of something else.

"What about school friends?" I asked. "Best friends?"

He shrugged. "People came and went. Sometimes I'd get kind of pulled into a group, but I always kept kind of on the fringe. I tried to keep to myself when I could."

I was a little incredulous. How could he go through school without a best friend? Alone?

However, I got the feeling there really wasn't much more to tell on this topic, so I moved on to another school-related question.

"What about bullies?" I asked. "Any particular enemies?" I added as an afterthought, "You don't need to tell me any names."

We were in the parking lot now, but we still had some time before class. I didn't move to leave, and neither did he.

Beau sighed. "I guess I look like the kind of guy who knows a lot about bullies, don't I?"

I said quickly, "You don't have to answer that if you don't want to." However, my curiosity was now a blazing inferno.

He turned to look at me, frowning, and seemed to interpret the look on my face correctly. He sighed again in defeat. "No particular enemies," he said. "Like a rival or a mortal enemy or anything like that. The only guy I've known who's seemed like he has it in for me is Logan. But, I'm hoping now that Taylor's not after me to go to the prom with her, that's over." He grinned a little.

In my mind, that would hardly absolve Logan from guilt, and I was still considering ways I might repay him for his treatment of Beau—but I let it pass, only waiting patiently for Beau to continue.

"But," he said, "I guess there are always those kind of guys around, who like to pick on other people. In a big school like mine, they had plenty of targets to choose from, and I was just one in the rotation." He shrugged. "It wasn't a big deal. Seventh grade was probably about the worst of it. When I got to eighth, I hit a growth spurt and shot up, and they pretty much left me alone after that."

"Seventh grade..." I mused, trying to imagine Beau at that age. It was an unpleasant, vulnerable time for most adolescents, but I could only imagine how much worse it was for those forced to suffer under the rule of mini-tyrants. "And, if I may ask, what did these bullies do, exactly?"

Beau shrugged again. "Just the usual stuff. They'd take your money if you had any, or your lunch. They'd trip you if you walked by them, or shove you around a bit if they were in the mood."

He paused, considering. "Course, what I really hated was the lockers. I definitely don't miss that at all."

I frowned slightly, gaze drifting to the school outside. The parking lot was completely empty now—we only had a few minutes left to get to class, or I was going to make him late. Reluctantly, I pushed open my door as I repeated, "Lockers?"

He nodded as he opened his door and got out. "As in, they'd come along and shove you into them, then shut you inside. I was a real shrimp in seventh grade, so I fit right into a locker. Worst was definitely the first time—first week of school."

I was quietly aghast, but I tried to keep my reaction muted and casual as his. "That sounds...uncomfortable," I said cautiously.

He shrugged again as we hurried across the lot. "Yeah, but you sort of got used to it over the course of the year."

"First week of school..." I repeated slowly, hoping to prod him into elaborating a little. I noticed he still hadn't actually told me the story—but before I could press him further, I hesitated. I felt compelled to add, "But, I suppose, if the story is too painful to relive..."

He snorted. "More embarrassing than painful."

We had pushed through the doors into the hall now, in time to hear the one-minute bell ring. I knew the story would have to wait, and for a moment I was sorely tempted to suggest that we skive off for the day, go back to my car and drive out somewhere so I could keep up the questions nonstop. However, people would talk, and in a town as small as this, no doubt rumors would get back around to Charlie. Better to let Beau be responsible.

I determined then and there I would soon have a word with Mr. Cope—surely I could have my schedule rearranged to better accommodate my needs. These continual separations seemed an unnecessary hardship.

For a moment I gazed up into his face, and was once again tempted to reach up and stroke my finger along his jaw. He was looking down at me, too, as though he couldn't look away.

Then the bell rang and he muttered something under his breath, before he disappeared into the classroom, leaving me to the impatience and torture of my still unanswered questions.

Sighing, I turned and trudged off to my own class.

* * *

I caught him between classes like the previous day, but as we only had a few minutes, I had to stick to shorter questions, and I didn't press him into telling me the locker story until lunch.

I hurriedly piled some food for him on a tray—after yesterday, I had a little idea of what he liked—and shepherded him off to our usual table. I'd barely let him sit down when I launched right in.

"Okay," I said. "You were saying—'The worst was definitely the first time, the first week of school'?"

He gave me an incredulous look, then made a face. As though taunting me, he picked up a sandwich from his tray, took a slow, deliberate bite, then chewed carefully before swallowing.

I raised an eyebrow.

He sighed. "Fine, I'll tell you. Okay, it was my first week of school, seventh grade. I was standing in front of my open locker, trying to get this big textbook to fit in my bag, when a couple of big guys came up behind me and shoved me in, then slammed the door on me. They laughed like crazy, and then one of them told me if I yelled for help, they were going to jump me after school and beat me to a pulp.

"Well, like a doofus I believed them, and I didn't say a word. It was dark, and cramped, and I couldn't stand up straight because of the shelf at the top. Even though there were big slots, I felt like I couldn't breathe, and I kind of started hyperventilating. I don't know how long it was before a hall duty heard me, and got the janitor to open the locker."

"What happened to the two who did it?" I asked, eager, thinking it was too bad that torture or severing of limbs was illegal in this country.

He shrugged. "Nothing. Because I hadn't been yelling or anything, the hall monitor kind of thought I might have been hiding in there because I didn't want to go to class. The last thing I wanted was for people to know me as the pathetic kid who got shoved in a locker and was too scared to try to get out his first week of school for the rest of junior high, so I didn't say anything. I think some of the teachers kind of suspected what had happened, but since I wouldn't say, they couldn't do anything. I ended up getting a detention." He shrugged again.

"Your mother would have had to sign the slip, wouldn't she?" I asked. "Did you tell her what really happened?"

He looked horrified at the thought. "No way. She would have freaked out. I just told her I did it on a dare, and it was dumb and I promised never to do it again. Usually my mom could see through my lies a mile away, but I guess since my mom skipped class a lot in junior high, she just believed me. She gave me a long lecture about the importance of education and all that, then she made me do the dishes and get groceries for a month." He chuckled a bit. "Course, I was doing that anyway."

I couldn't be quite so flippant as he was, as I pictured a small, seventh grade Beau terrified and hyperventilating in a locker.

He glanced at me, seeing my expression. "It's okay," he said. "You can laugh. I'm over it now."

I forced a smile, but didn't laugh. "What did you say their names were?" I asked, my voice politely interested.

He frowned. "Who?"

Still keeping my tone casual, I said, "I mean your two friends, who put you in the locker."

He raised an eyebrow. "Um, Edythe, I thought you told me not to tell you their names."

I made my smile a little wider, and my tone reassuring. "I did say that. But I changed my mind. Just call me obsessive compulsive, I like to have all the details."

He eyed my benign expression warily. "Well, even if I wanted to, I couldn't. I never saw either of them again after that, I never knew who they were. They were probably ninth graders, and we didn't have classes together."

"Oh." I tried to mask my disappointment. It was probably just as well. Carine wouldn't like me to be contemplating hunting down human children and doing terrible things to them... Some of the medieval forms of judgment I'd come up with for Logan had already transferred to the faceless, nameless boys, and now they were only saved by their anonymity.

I decided I was satisfied on the topic of bullies for now—or perhaps I just didn't think it wise to expose myself to more temptation for severe violence and retribution—and I moved the questioning to more pleasant topics, any grandparents he might have known, then back to more about his school friends and teachers he'd liked.

As we neared the end of lunch, however, I finally worked up to a subject I was keenly interested in.

"So," I said, my smile turning a bit sly. "What about girls, then?"

Predictably, patches of color began crawling up his face. "What do you mean?"

"Girls," I repeated. "Girlfriends, dates, crushes—there has to be at least a few good stories there. Any standouts?"

I had been burning to ask this question for awhile, and I would have already asked it yesterday, but I'd needed a little time to mentally prepare—to strengthen my resolve _not_ to go back and hunt down any girls who might have broken up with him in a cold, heartless way.

"Umm," he said, looking down. "To be honest...I never really dated. I was forced into a few group things, but I never knew any of the girls. Anyway, I didn't really have a lot of extra time for that kind of stuff. I was too busy trying to help my mom out." He added quickly, "Not that it mattered. I didn't really see the appeal in dating, honestly."

I hadn't been expecting this. A seventeen year old who hadn't gone out at least once? Or even had a crush?

I wondered if that could really be the truth.

"So you never met anyone you wanted?" I asked. I studied his expression carefully, looking for signs he was hiding something.

However, his eyes remained perfectly clear. "Not in Phoenix."

I considered that. I guessed that was something else I could put down that we had in common—zero romantic experience. This was as new for him as it was for me.

He took a bite of his sandwich.

 _Ready to go?_

I blinked, as I heard Archie's mental voice interrupt my thoughts. Something suddenly occurred to me that I'd been so wrapped up in my questions I was ashamed I hadn't thought of.

"I should have let you drive yourself today," I said suddenly.

He swallowed the bit of sandwich. "Why?"

"I'm leaving with Archie after lunch."

"Oh." His face turned abruptly glum. Then he worked to appear nonchalant, shrugging. "That's okay, it's not that far of a walk."

I was slightly incredulous. "I'm not going to make you walk home. We'll go get your truck and leave it for you."

"I don't have my key with me." He sighed, then said, "I really don't mind walking." He didn't hide his lack of enthusiasm well.

"Your truck will be here, and the key will be in the ignition," I insisted. I added with a laugh, "Unless you're afraid someone might steal it." Wouldn't that just be Beau's luck—an ancient Chevy that probably didn't go above sixty miles per hour that no one could possibly want, and someone decided to drive off with it.

"Okay," he said, but I could tell he didn't believe me. "So where are you going?"

That sapped the amusement from face.

"Hunting," I said in a low voice. "If we're going to be alone together tomorrow, I'm going to take whatever precautions I can."

As I spoke, the image from Archie's vision rose in my mind again—brilliant sunlight glittering off my skin like strobes of rainbow colors through a prism, surrounded by emerald green grass, and his broken body limp in my arms.

Should I really do this? Should I really take such a risk?

I looked up into his eyes, not sure what I wanted him to do. "You can always cancel, you know," I said softly, and for one moment, I almost hoped that he would.

His eyes dropped from mine. His expression was hard to interpret—hurt? Or just worried about something?

Finally his eyes flickered back up. "No," he said quietly. "I can't."

I gazed back into his eyes. There was a softness about his expression, but also a steady determination. _I won't,_ his tone seemed to imply. _I don't want to._

"Perhaps you're right," I murmured as I continued to gaze at him. If I was so determined for this day to happen even with the possibility of the future I'd seen in Archie's vision, if he did try to back out, would I really let him? Or would I lay on the charm and the hypnotism, and do everything I could to persuade him it was safe? _"I care about you too much, Beau. I could never really hurt you, no matter what I am."_ A lie.

He shifted uneasily, and I knew he saw it—the darkness that suddenly came into my eyes at the thought, of his trying to escape me.

"What time tomorrow?" he asked, in a deliberately normal, casual tone, trying to break the tension.

I closed my eyes for a moment, forcing myself to be calm. "That depends..." I said, making my voice as light as his. "It's a Saturday. Don't you want to sleep in?"

"No," he said, so quickly and emphatically that I had to smile.

"Same time as usual, then?"

He looked relieved, his face brightening, "Where should I pick you up?"

"I'll come to your place, also as usual."

He frowned. "Um, it doesn't help with the Charlie situation if an unexplained Volvo is left in the driveway."

I almost laughed. How much he still had to learn. "I wasn't intending to bring a car."

"How—" he began, but I cut across him. We didn't have time to get into another long conversation about vampire powers.

"Don't worry about it. I'll be there, no car. No chance that Charlie will see anything out of the ordinary." And then, because this was precisely the opposite of what he should find reassuring, I added coldly, "And then, if you don't come home, it will be a complete mystery, won't it?"

"Guess so," he said with a shrug. "Maybe I'll get on the news and everything."

I glared at him as he calmly took another bite of his lunch. I wondered if he was really so blasé about his own life, or if it was simply that he trusted so much, believed so strongly that I would never hurt him, that he still thought I was exaggerating the danger.

The thought of his trust filled me with conflicting emotions. A warm glow seemed to ignite in my chest—darkened by a crippling wave of guilt. Because as much as I tried to convince myself otherwise, I knew there were no guarantees. There were two possible outcomes, and I wouldn't know which way our fate would turn until the moment arrived.

Some of the tension in my posture faded, more depressed and anxious now than angry.

"What are you hunting tonight?" he asked conversationally, the way he might ask what restaurant I was going to, or what my parents were cooking for dinner. It was hard to get used to—how quickly he'd accepted so many strange things about our lifestyle, and our way of seeing the world. I wasn't sure if I was glad or not, seeing how fast his view of _normal_ had changed.

"Whatever we find in the park," I answered. "We aren't going far." By this point, being away from him for any length of time was physically painful—never mind the panic attacks I had whenever he was out of my sight.

"Why are you going with Archie?" he wanted to know. "Didn't you say he was being annoying?"

I paused. "He's still the most...supportive." Of all of them, Archie wanted me to succeed the most. He had the most to lose if I failed.

"And the rest of them?" he asked, sensing the unspoken implication of my careful comment. His eyebrows came together in worry. "What are they?"

I hesitated, trying to think of the best way to sum up the swirl of thoughts. "Incredulous, for the most part."

His eyes flickered toward their table. "They don't like me." The guess was more a statement than a question.

"That's not it," I argued, though I knew even as I said it that it wasn't entirely true. It wasn't exactly a personal dislike, even in Royal's case—it was what I was choosing to do for him and because of him that had them on edge.

Because he was watching me, obviously waiting for more explanation, I added, "They don't understand why I can't leave you alone."

He nodded. "Me, either."

For some reason I couldn't quite explain, it bothered me that, even after all I'd said and done, he still couldn't believe how serious my feelings were—that he was so unable to see all the things about himself that I saw, that made me so unable to think about anything else. I was a monster and I didn't deserve him—wouldn't have deserved anyone half, a quarter as good as he was. Yet he was always too humble, too certain of his own inferiority. I found myself wanting more than anything to make him understand, to find something that would penetrate his thick, stubborn skull.

Strangely I found myself smiling. "You're not like anyone I've ever known, Beau. You fascinate me."

He gazed back at me uncertainly, like he wasn't sure if I was joking and he was supposed to laugh. "I can't understand that."

I pushed harder, trying to explain. "Having the advantages I do, I have a better-than-average grasp of human nature. People are predictable. But you...you never do what I expect. You always take me by surprise."

His eyes flickered away from mine. If anything, he seemed uncomfortable. There was a kind of amused disappointment in his eyes I couldn't interpret.

I continued, determined to clarify. "That part is easy enough to explain. But there's more, and it's not so easy to put into words—"

His eyes were on the back table again, watching my family as I spoke.

 _Troublesome little eyesore. Madness to think he could possibly be worth—_

The sound of Royal's growling mental voice interrupted my thoughts, and I broke off. Beau's face had gone abruptly ashen, and I saw his face through Royal's eyes, as Royal had turned his gaze to fix Beau with his signature death glare.

I hissed under my breath, a warning too low for the humans at the other tables to hear, but plenty loud enough for Royal.

Mentally grumbling, Royal turned his gaze away from Beau, and Beau sagged in his seat, though his eyes were still wide as his gaze shifted back to me.

"That was definitely dislike."

I knew it was probably right for Beau to be afraid of my family, and yet, for some indefinable reason, I found I didn't want him to be.

"I'm sorry about that," I said quickly. "He's just worried." I hesitated, then added, "You see...it's dangerous for more than just me if, after spending so much time with you so publicly..." I couldn't finish, and my eyes dropped.

"If?" he pressed.

He was going to force me to say it. I swallowed, then whispered, "If this ends...badly."

All at once, it hit me—like an ice cold punch to the gut. What right did I have to risk his life this way? His words about the news could very well become reality. Once again, Archie's visions from the early days flashed through my mind, the search parties, the frantic terror on Charlie Swan's face. Then, at last, the realization, and acceptance, that something must have happened. The funeral, with his father and mother's drawn, distraught faces.

I forgot where I was, that we were in a cafeteria full of people, and I lowered my head until it fell into my hands, as I was seized with a paralyzing terror and agony so acute it shut out everything else.

A moment later, I felt something warm against my elbow—his comforting hand. I felt the heat even through the material of my long sleeve shirt.

For a minute, I still couldn't bring myself to look at him, and finally he said to break the tension, "And you have to leave now?"

"Yes," I answered, in an unsteady voice. I took a deep, silent breath, then let my hands fall back to the table. My eyes flickered briefly to his face—and there was not a trace of fear, only the sadness that I was leaving. Then my gaze dropped to his hand, where it hadn't moved from where it rested against my arm. I didn't deserve this kind of support, or loyalty, not with what I was doing. I didn't deserve to have him need me as much as he seemed to.

But, I wasn't making anything better for him forcing him to watch me wallow in my pessimism and self-loathing. If we were going to have to be separated for a few hours, I didn't want this to be his last memory of me.

 _Ready to go?_

I didn't reply to the thought, but I knew Archie knew the answer. I smiled a little, raising my eyes back to Beau. "It's probably for the best. We still have fifteen minutes of that wretched movie left to endure in Biology—I don't think I could take any more."

He looked as though he saw my point. Then he suddenly jerked, quickly drawing his hand back as he caught sight of Archie, standing behind me.

"Archie," I acknowledged, without turning around.

"Edythe," he answered, mocking my formal tone. _You promised._

I still didn't turn. "Archie, Beau—Beau, Archie." I smiled wryly as I spoke, knowing my brother wouldn't find the curt introduction at all adequate.

"Hello, Beau," Archie said, smiling, but toning down his excitement. He didn't want to scare his future best friend, after all. However, he added, "It's nice to finally meet you."

I shot him a warning look. Introductions, that was all I had agreed to. I had specifically avoided telling Beau about Archie's powers thus far, for more reasons than just that I thought it polite not to spread around my family's secrets without their express permission. I wasn't ready for Beau to know about Archie's visions—how he had predicted I would fall in love with him, and more importantly, how he would become one of us. Observant as Beau often was, it would be only too easy for him to pick up any subtle signals, and if he started asking questions, I knew I wouldn't be able to bring myself to avoid them.

Beau fidgeted, and he looked unaccountably nervous. "Um, hey, Archie," he said. He was looking at Archie's eyes, which were a flat obsidian and, remembering that he had figured out that little tidbit about us, I wondered if he was thinking about how hungry Archie must be.

"Are you ready?" Archie asked me, aloud this time, for Beau's benefit.

"Nearly," I said. "I'll meet you at the car."

He wasn't at all put off by my cool tone or rude dismissal and, still grinning, he obediently loped off.

Beau swallowed loudly, then shook his head. "Should I say 'have fun,' or is that the wrong sentiment?"

"'Have fun' works as well as anything." I grinned again.

"Have fun, then." He raised his voice to make it sound light and cheerful, but of course he wasn't a good actor, and the false note was obvious.

"I'll try," I said, still smiling. "And you try to be safe, please."

He sighed, and rolled his eyes slightly. "Safe in Forks—what a challenge."

My smile tightened. "For you it _is_ a challenge," I insisted. "Promise."

"I promise to be safe," he answered dutifully. Then added with a bit of a mischievous grin, "I was meaning to deal with laundry...or is that too hazardous a task? I mean, I could fall in or something."

I didn't appreciate the humor, and I gave him a look. I was indeed suddenly keenly aware of all the possible hazards of washing machines, and other household appliances.

"Okay, okay," he said, relenting, "I'll do my best."

I climbed to my feet—I had to pry myself away, before Archie took it as an excuse to come back, and I made Beau late for class.

He got up as well, and his expression was gloomy. "I'll see you tomorrow," he said.

I smiled. "It seems like a long time to you, doesn't it?"

He nodded dolefully.

"I'll be there in the morning," I promised. Of course, I would see him before that. Yet he had no idea how much longer the time apart would seem to me—decades of immortal life I had lived, and over these past few days, I had lost all perspective. Time passed at such vastly different speeds, from flying away like a fighter jet at top speed when we were together, to crawling by, minute by painful minute when we were apart.

I went to him, briefly touching his hand and gazing up earnestly into his wide, sky blue eyes. Then I turned, and forced myself to walk away, and I felt his eyes follow me until he couldn't see me anymore.

* * *

We stopped by his house first. I slipped in my usual point of break in, the window in his room.

I'd made the decision to comb the entire house for the key, and so Archie had looked ahead to my future, and I saw in his mind exactly where I would find it. I could have also found it by smell if I had to, suffused as it was with the very particular smell of Beau's old truck. However, it became clear why Beau had seemed so confident I wouldn't—it was in the pocket of a pair of trousers back in the laundry room, buried under a pile of other dirty clothes.

As I grabbed out the key, for a minute I considered putting the clothes in the machine and getting the process started for him, so he wouldn't have to do it. Aside from the potential hazards he had pointed out, I realized the idea of doing his housework for him gave me a thrill I couldn't quite explain.

However, knowing I was breaking into his house to grab a car key and seeing I'd been sorting through his laundry were two different things—given his penchant for suddenly turning sensitive over the most ridiculous things, he might have some over-the-top reaction to my seeing his boxer shorts.

As I headed back through the kitchen from the laundry room, I paused. I tore a sheet from the notepad beside the phone and, borrowing the pen sitting nearby, I wrote two words on it, then carefully folded it and slipped it into my pocket.

I headed outside to find Archie had abandoned my Volvo where we had parked it a ways up the street, and was already waiting in the truck. Sighing, I got in on the driver's side, and turned the keys in the ignition. The engine roared to life, loud as a grumpy, waking tiger.

Archie cupped his hands over his mouth, pretending to have to shout over the noise. "I think you might want to consider trading your Volvo in for one of these babies. What do you think?"

"Funny," I muttered, setting the gearshift and backing out of the drive. If we made it through this Saturday, the first thing I was going to do was get him lined up with a new vehicle. Something that had been around preferably _less_ than half a century. I anticipated the slow drive tomorrow with chagrin.

"Don't take it over fifty-five miles an hour," Archie advised. "I'm seeing bad things happening if you do. Then Beau really would have to walk home in the rain." He considered briefly. "Unless he could get a ride with one of his friends."

I pictured Beau in the passenger's seat of McKayla's Suburban, and I kept my foot light on the gas pedal. The slow crawl was painful, and Archie grimaced beside me. I was definitely going to have to get him something better than this.

"So," Archie said conversationally as I pulled up behind my parked Volvo. "How do you feel?"

I stared straight ahead. "You mean how do I feel right now, or about tomorrow?"

Archie rolled his eyes. _You know what I mean. Tomorrow. Feeling confident?_

I hesitated. I wanted to say yes, of course nothing was going to happen, I would never, in a thousand lifetimes, ever hurt him. But the truth was my mind was awash in so many confusing and roiling emotions I didn't know how to sort them all out.

Instead of answering, I sighed.

Archie seemed to understand. _You can do this, Edy. Just concentrate on what you want most, and don't let yourself forget it. Then things will turn out okay._

"I hope so," I whispered. However, even as he thought the words, I could see the probabilities in his mind—the chance that I would spill his blood and he would stare up at me with empty, sightless eyes. And before I could stop myself, the words I hadn't been wanting to say all poured out in a rush.

"Should I really be doing this, Archie? Do I have the right to take this kind of risk? I can still call it off—it's not too late. Maybe you were right, maybe I shouldn't—I mean, if I were to—to make a mistake—I don't know how I would ever—"

I didn't know what I was saying, and I fell silent. Once again, the image from Archie's vision filled my mind, horrific and ghastly, and for a moment the pain was so unbearable I couldn't breathe.

Archie was gazing at me. However, after a moment he shook his head.

 _No, I changed my mind. I think you're going to have to face this sometime—if you don't do it now, it'll sneak up on you eventually. Better now, when you're thinking about it, when you're ready for it. You can't avoid it forever. I think you're right to go._

I blinked, startled. I turned my eyes to him, and found him gazing back at me, his expression serious, without the least bit of humor.

After a moment, I smiled a little, turning my eyes back to my parked Volvo in front of us. That meant more than he probably realized.

Archie climbed out, and got into my Volvo. In a squeal of tires, he was soon gone, off to leave my car back at the house.

It was a longer drive than usual, but before long I had the truck at the school and, as I'd said I would, I left the key in the ignition. After having driven the thing several torturous miles, I was doubly certain that even if someone saw the opportunity, they would not be even remotely tempted to take it. If they did, it would be the thief's loss and Beau's gain, because then Beau would have no choice but to let me buy him a replacement. Something that could safely go above fifty-five miles per hour, for a start.

As I got out of the truck, I paused. I reached into the pocket of my jacket, and withdrew the note I had written in the kitchen. I left it on the seat for him to find. Then I turned, and melted away into the forest.

* * *

All afternoon and evening, I gorged myself on animal blood, consuming far more than I had ever tried before. I drank until I felt positively sick with it, until my stomach, though it was unchanged, felt as though it would burst at the seams, and the smell of any blood was almost repulsive to me.

My eyes were such a pale gold they glowed almost white in the dim light of early evening. The sun had only just touched the horizon when Archie finally said, "I think that's enough, Edy. You're seriously going to make yourself puke. You'd be the first vampire I've ever seen drink so much they couldn't keep it all down."

Archie was sitting on the branch of a tree, finished with his hunting long ago. He had been watching my antics with some amusement at first, but now it had turned to concern.

I sat myself carefully down at the base of the tree, leaning back against the bark and closing my eyes, trying to stave off the swirling sickness in my stomach and throat. Even the thought of human blood didn't sound appealing right now—with the exception of one.

"Ready for tomorrow?" he asked again, as he had in the truck.

"As ready as I'm ever going to be," I replied, stifling a groan. I'd definitely never felt like this before, so full that I didn't feel like moving—almost like a human. Archie was right, one never heard of vampires throwing up blood because they drank too much. I was breaking new ground here, in so many ways.

"You'll feel better tomorrow, when it's had time to settle," he said reassuringly.

I smiled a little. "That's good to hear."

I opened my eyes, staring straight up at him, where he was still perched on his branch. "Hey," I said. "Archie?"

"Yeah?" He glanced down, smiling, and of course I knew he already knew what I was about to say.

I said it anyway. "I really am glad. I mean, that you like Beau, and you're going to be friends. It's just...I have trouble with the idea of letting him into our world. It's just so dangerous for a human."

"And you don't want him to change," he said. "Even though he would be safer."

I sighed and shook my head. I let my eyes slide closed again. "He loves his mother. And his father, too, even if he doesn't like to show it. To become one of us...he would have to leave his human life entirely behind."

"That's true." Archie paused, then added quietly, "But I think...if you asked for his opinion, if you asked him to choose, he would choose you." He wasn't speaking from a vision—I was so against even making the suggestion he couldn't see that future. And yet, there was a ring of truth to it.

"I don't want him to," I whispered. "I don't want him to have to choose me over them, and I don't want him to have to bear the burdens that we bear. I don't want to condemn him to this life. I would rather disappear—I would rather have never existed at all than see him forced to make that kind of sacrifice."

I opened my eyes again, and I found Archie smiling down at me. His pale face was tinted crimson in the evening light, hard skin glittering.

"It's going to be okay tomorrow," he said with conviction. Once again, the prediction wasn't from a vision.

"What makes you say that?" I asked. His thoughts were still coming together, and weren't entirely clear.

He paused for a second. He lifted his eyes to the red twilight sky. "Because you really do love him," he murmured. His eyes dropped back to me, and he suddenly grinned. "In spite of the psychotic, obsessive stalking thing."

I frowned. "In _spite_ of? You don't think I follow him _because_ I love him?"

Archie laughed. "That's the crazy obsession part. What you just said, about not wanting him to choose—that's the love."

I stared out at the horizon, thinking about that for a long time. We both watched the sky darken from twilight to night, and as the stars each came out one by one.

It was a long time before Archie finally climbed to his feet. He stretched theatrically where he stood on his branch, though that was only for show, as we could sit still indefinitely without suffering stiffness or sore limbs. We had all been acting just a bit more human-like lately.

"Well, I guess it's time to get back," he said. "I'll bet he's already fast asleep now."

"You think maybe I shouldn't spy on him tonight?" I said, a little uneasily. "Do you think that's wrong?" Now that he knew the truth of what we were, there was a certain level of trust between us that made it feel underhanded and treacherous in a way it hadn't before.

Archie laughed. "Well, if you're going to keep going to his room at night, you might want to tell him about it sometime. You know, if we're talking about right and wrong. On the other hand, from a rational point of view...breathing his scent all night's helped you get kind of used to it, right? Maybe it's better if you didn't go and change things up tonight. You'll need to be at your best and most prepared for tomorrow."

I felt immediately better. "That's certainly true."

Archie grinned as he leaped from the tree, and landed in front of me. He glanced over his shoulder at where I sat, seeing my relieved expression. His grin widened.

 _You're so easy to please._

I got up from the tree trunk. I didn't feel quite so sick from the animal blood now.

Archie turned to go. _See you tomorrow morning,_ he thought. _Don't forget to say goodbye before you leave._

I smiled. "I won't." I paused briefly. "Oh, and Archie?"

He turned back a second, curious.

I laughed. "Keep my Aston Martin safe from Royal while I'm gone."

He grinned back.

* * *

I was nervous. More nervous than I could ever remember feeling at any point in my existence.

I was standing in front of the tall mirror in the upper bathroom, studying the wardrobe I had picked out for today.

Keeping it simple seemed the best option. I had on a pair of designer jeans, the kind I always wore, along with a thin tan sweater. Under the sweater I had picked out a white sleeveless shirt that Earnest had bought me an age ago, which I'd never worn around anyone except my family. None of us liked showing too much skin in public. But it seemed appropriate, if I really wanted Beau to get the full measure of what I was. He would soon see with his own eyes my true nature, that I was not human. I wasn't going to hide anymore.

I don't know why the thought of him seeing me in the sun unnerved me so. I had told him so many horrific things, which he had calmly accepted, and without the shock and terror that should have been inevitable.

Maybe it was simply the thought of the exposure—all this time, despite everything I had said, I still must _seem_ human. I spoke like a human, moved like a human. He'd only had the barest glimpses of my true self, when I had saved him from the van, and again when I had tried to get out of the car in Port Angeles, unafraid of bullets. Knowing what I was, and seeing it, were two very different things. When he saw how alien I was, how strange, would it suddenly hit him? Would his natural human instincts finally kick in, and make him abruptly realize how repulsive a creature I was?

I took several deep, calming breaths. I was in control. Whatever his reaction, I would accept it. And I wouldn't give in to my own instincts—I would conquer them, once and for all, and prove to myself I would truly never hurt him, no matter what. I would make it so he was never in any danger from me—and so, if he did want to stay with me, then it wouldn't be wrong for me to stay. I could stay, as long as he wanted me to, and make him happy...

I left the room, ready to head out. As I made my way for the door, I passed through the living room.

Carine was not there—called into the hospital for some emergency procedure only she was qualified to perform. Eleanor and Jessamine were back to playing their complicated version of chess; Eleanor had lost the last one, and now she was out for revenge. Royal had sat himself down in front of the television, and he was glaring at it as I came into the room, refusing to turn. Earnest had come downstairs from his own projects in his study to see how everyone was doing, and as he saw me, he smiled.

Archie was on the computer again, and he leaned his head around the partition to shoot me a grin. _Good luck,_ he mentally called.

I nodded at him once, and also paused for a moment to let Earnest pat my shoulder and give me an encouraging smile.

 _It will go fine, Edythe,_ he thought. _I know it will. I'm happy for you._

I did my best to smile back, before I slipped out the door.

The morning air was crisp as I raced the familiar path through the trees to his house. The sky was still overcast, it wouldn't be sunny until later—but there was a taste on the air that made it feel like spring anyway.

As always, my thoughts spun in dizzying circles, and my emotions chased them, racing around from one extreme to the other in a heartbeat.

Last night, he had been unnaturally still in his sleep. There had been an unusual smell on his hand, and on his breath, and it hadn't taken me long to realize it was from some kind of strong medication. That he had felt the need to drug himself to sleep—was it simply excitement, like a couple of nights ago? Or was it possible, when the sun began to set and he recalled the possibility of what might happen...had reality finally begun to sink in?

I knew it would be best for him to truly understand what I was, to flee. If he chose to stay, my weakness might destroy him in the end—yet the possibility of his turning away from me filled me with a dread so acute I could barely breathe.

I shook my head, forcing myself to focus. First thing was first—I had to go to his door, and find out if we were still on for the day, if we were really going to go through with this experiment with such a potential for disaster. If something the previous night hadn't rightfully changed his mind.

There was no one close by to see me, so I simply emerged from the woods, and went up to his door. I knocked quietly, then waited.

As on the previous days, I heard the rapid clump of his footsteps as he raced down the stairs. However, when he reached the door, I could hear the sounds of him fumbling with the lock—as if his hands were shaking so much he couldn't quite get it. I waited apprehensively.

When he finally got the door open, my eyes instantly fell on his face. For one long second, his expression was nothing like that of the past few days. His skin was a chalky pale, and I noticed that, when he pulled his hand back from the doorknob, he left a thin residue of sweat.

Then he breathed deeply, and he seemed to relax. He smiled down at me, and looked totally content.

I glanced down, and suddenly I laughed.

"Good morning," I said cheerfully.

"What's wrong?" he said, suddenly alarmed. He glanced down at his clothes to find the source of my amusement.

"We match," I said, grinning.

It was true—he was wearing jeans, and he'd picked out a tan sweater precisely the same shade as mine, with a white T-shirt underneath.

That we had both chosen such a similar wardrobe by coincidence put me in a good mood. This day was starting off better than I expected.

We headed out to his truck, and I went to stand dutifully by the passenger door.

He read the torture in my face, and raised his eyebrows.

"You agreed to this," he noted as he opened my door for me.

I had. And I would be foisting on him a far superior vehicle at the first opportunity, without a doubt. Although, even a better vehicle wouldn't cure what I suspected was simply an unfortunate tendency to drive slow. Then again, with his luck and reflexes, maybe that was for the best.

As he got in on the driver's side and I got in on mine, I suddenly had a new anxiety about this arrangement.

"Where to?" he asked casually.

Instead of answering, I ordered, "Put your seat belt on—I'm nervous already."

He rolled his eyes, but I didn't relax until he had clicked the belt into place. "Where to?" he asked again.

"Take the one-oh-one north."

I watched him as he drove, his eyes carefully scanning the road ahead. It was a strange reversal from our usual arrangement, with my eyes generally on the road and him watching me. I realized I didn't mind it so much—I could watch him all day and be perfectly content.

As he drove, for a moment my thoughts wandered. My mind briefly returned to the laundry room, and the thought of doing his laundry for him, and other household tasks. Cooking, cleaning, changing the sheets on the beds, making out a grocery list—

A sudden, powerful wave of wistful melancholy swept through me. To a human, such things were all mundane, commonplace chores, but to me, they were alien. They weren't a necessary part of our everyday lives.

The ache to be human, the regret of what I was, throbbed again.

I shook my head, forcing myself to come back to the present. My eyes flickered to the road, then to the speedometer on the dash. I grimaced.

"Were you planning to make it out of Forks before nightfall?" I wondered.

He grumbled. "This truck is old enough to be the Volvo's grandfather—have a little respect."

His eyes remained fixed on the road, and he stubbornly refused to increase the speed. Perhaps I was imagining it, but I wondered if he might actually be driving slower than he normally did. Maybe he was just trying to spite me.

Or maybe, I thought, he wasn't in any hurry to arrive at the site of his possible death.

I decided there was no point in rushing him. I ought to simply sit back and savor this time. I turned my eyes to watch his face—it was easier to ride with him if I wasn't looking at the road.

In spite of his driving speed, the time went by quickly, and before long the houses gave way to thick forest.

"Turn right on one-ten," I said, a little ways before the turnoff.

He did as I said without speaking, and I wondered if he was still annoyed at my jab at his driving speed—or just the implied insult to the truck. He had a tendency to get a bit defensive about it.

"Now, we drive until the pavement ends," I said.

He didn't turn his head, but he asked after a moment, "And what's there, at the pavement's end?"

"A trail."

A pause. "We're hiking?" A definite note of dismay had crept into his voice.

"Is that a problem?"

"No." However, he answered a little too quickly. It was obvious from his displays in Gym he didn't consider himself all that athletic, and apparently he wasn't a hiker, either.

"Don't worry," I reassured him, "it's only five miles or so and we're in no hurry."

He was silent.

I waited for him to answer, but he just kept staring out the front windshield. His face was serious...and grim.

Going out into the wilderness, alone, with a dangerous predator, miles from anywhere—knowing that he may not come back, that if something happened, no one would even hear him scream. Did the prospect finally begin to incite proper terror? Or was he mentally wrestling down the feeling, refusing to pay attention to it?

Finally I couldn't take it anymore and I asked, "What are you thinking?"

He shrugged. "Just wondering where we're going," he said casually.

I could tell by his tone he was lying, but I doubted I would pry any more from him, so I answered, "It's a place I like to go when the weather is nice."

"Charlie said it would be warm today," he noted.

"And did you tell Charlie what you were up to?" Of course, I already had a fairly good idea of the answer, but I felt a sudden flare of hope, treacherous as it was to my family—he had shown signs of not being quite so blasé and naïve about the danger as he appeared. Perhaps enough that he might have taken my warnings seriously, and decided to tell someone after all.

"Nope," he said, casual.

"But you probably said something to Jeremy about me driving you to Seattle," I added hopefully. I hadn't heard anything, but then, I hadn't been watching Jeremy all that closely. Or maybe I just wanted to hear him lie. To, even if he hadn't told a soul, tell me that he had—to tell me that people knew where he was and that he was with me, and if something happened to him, I would be the first suspect. To threaten me, so that I would have something to hold onto, should the darkness within try to rise to the surface.

"No, I didn't," he said calmly.

"No one knows you're with me?" I demanded. A sudden fear gripped me as I realized—we were going to be completely alone. Not a soul knew where he was or that he was with me. There was nothing to hold the monster back. Nothing but my willpower and the fact I loved him—or thought I loved him. I felt the fear turning swiftly to anger.

"That depends..." he said, still calm. "I assume you told Archie?"

"That's very helpful, Beau," I snapped.

He didn't reply, just kept his eyes on the road.

If anything, his relaxation, his composure incited me even further. "Is it the weather?" I demanded, my voice rising. "Seasonal affective disorder? Has Forks made you so depressed you're actually suicidal?"

He paused for a moment.

At last he said in a low voice, "You said it might cause problems for you...us being together so publicly."

For a moment I couldn't speak—too shocked to say anything. All along, I realized I'd really thought he acted as though he didn't care about the risks because he was naive—some teenage invincibility complex. He could joke around about getting on the news if he disappeared because he didn't believe it would actually happen. But now it was clear, he was fully aware of what might happen today. He knew exactly what I was, what I might do to him. Yet he had come anyway, and what was more—

"So," I said in a low, dangerous voice, "you're worried about the trouble it might cause _me—_ if _you_ don't come _home_?"

He didn't speak or look at me, only nodded.

" _Absurd_ ," I whispered, speaking low and fast. _"Idiot, fool—"_

The words spilled out in a rush, every word of derision I knew, a string of pure poison probably too low for him to make out.

For one second, I almost hated him—hated him as I had hated him that first wretched day in Biology. I hated him for loving him like I did, loving him so much I couldn't keep away from him, and I hated him for loving me so much that he would willingly risk his life to be with me. Not only risk his life, but love me and think of my welfare even after he was dead.

For just a second, a part of me hated him for it. He was too kind, too good, to chance such a fate—and yet he walked straight toward it, never valuing his own worth, never considering what it would mean if he was lost. To his family, even those in his future who still had yet to meet him. He didn't stop to consider any of that.

Neither of us spoke the rest of the drive. The anger, the fury still pulsed through me like a disease, and he, seeming to sense my mood, didn't try to break the silence.

We finally reached the end of the road, where the wooden sign that marked the trail was clearly visible. He pulled off along the shoulder and shut off the engine.

We sat there for a minute, neither saying anything, before at last he turned and awkwardly got out of the truck.

I breathed deeply through my nose, willing myself to be calm even as his scent burned in the small space of his truck, saturating the air.

Before I could talk myself out of it, I stepped out of the truck and quickly pulled my sweater up over my head and discarded it on my seat. Now I only had on the sleeveless white shirt. Though of course I wasn't cold, I shivered slightly—having so much skin exposed made me feel uncomfortable in a way I was unused to. Especially when I knew that the sun would soon be breaking through the gauzy clouds above.

However, this was part of the plan, and I forced myself to be calm. I quickly messed with my hair, twisting it up to get it off my neck—now as much of my skin would be visible as possible. When we arrived there, he would get the full effect of exactly what I was.

I shut the truck door hard, then turned to gaze out into the forest, where we would be going, directly east.

I glanced back in his direction to see he was watching me.

"This way," I said, and my voice was still a bit crusty from our earlier exchange. I started forward.

Before I'd fully turned my eyes back to the forest, I saw his eyes glance once toward the wooden marker, then toward where I was walking.

I heard the scramble of his feet as he made to catch up to me. "The trail?" he asked, sounding alarmed.

"I said there was a trail at the end of the road, not that we were taking it," I answered.

He glanced back. "No trail? Really?"

I rolled my eyes, and I couldn't stay angry—not with his usual penchant for always panicking at all the wrong things. "I won't get you lost," I promised. I turned around to face him then, my mouth, which had been set in a hard, frustrated line, turning up in half a smile.

He didn't return the smile. Instead, he gazed back at me for a moment with wide eyes, his face contorted in a look of pain and despair.

I froze where I was, stunned. I didn't know how to react, seeing what I had half-expected all along come on so suddenly, without warning, before I had time to prepare. I felt a sudden wave of panic—like I wanted to reach out and grab him by the arm to keep him from fleeing from me.

But, looking back into his face, I swallowed the temptation and whispered, "Do you want to go home?"

He blinked and seemed to come back to himself. "No," he said emphatically, with sudden fervor.

He marched right up to me then, and came to a decided stop right by where I stood.

I stared up into his face. In this moment I felt the not knowing what was going through his mind was more painful than it had ever been. If I could see his thoughts now, then perhaps I could have a better idea what he needed, wanted. But whenever he said he wanted something, I could never be sure if he spoke for himself, or if he was going by what was best for someone else.

"What's wrong?" I asked softly at last.

He looked at me for a second, then his eyes dropped. "I'm not a fast hiker," he muttered at last. "You'll have to be very patient."

I still wasn't sure what he was thinking, but I wanted to cheer him up. "I can be patient," I said teasingly. "If I make a great effort." I smiled wide then, the way he always seemed to like, and I gazed up into his eyes.

However, the usual spell didn't seem to work. Though he forced a smile, it didn't reach his eyes. If anything, he only seemed more depressed.

"I'll take you home," I said at last, softly. Not sure if I was just making a promise for later, to make him feel safer, or trying to really give him the option to go now by taking the initiative myself.

He looked back at me for a second and his eyebrows came down with sudden irritation. "If you want me to hack five miles through the jungle before sundown, you'd better start leading the way."

I held his gaze for a moment. Clearly, he was upset about something—but it seemed equally clear he wasn't about to elucidate his thoughts for me. Finally I sighed and turned reluctantly away, and he followed me into the shadow of the trees.

We went slowly. He seemed to be trying to be extra careful so he didn't trip, though somehow twice he managed to snag the edge of his sneakers on tree roots, and I had to catch him to keep him from falling. Each time my touch set his heart to hammering, and I wasn't sure if it was just his usual reaction, or a new-found terror.

He didn't look at me much, only kept his eyes on the path, watching for more obstacles. Every once in a while he would sigh. He was so quiet, and seemed so downcast—I considered telling him we could always turn back anytime he chose. However, so far his reactions to anything of that sort had always seemed so vehemently opposed, so I said nothing.

I didn't mind the pace now that we were out of the old truck, and in fact, I was glad of it. I used the extra time to continue to mentally strengthen myself, to firm up my resolve. A part of me wouldn't have minded seeing this hike stretched out for hours more, for days, the two of us simply together. Delaying the decisive moment indefinitely—the moment when everything might go horribly wrong.

I glanced back at him to find his expression brooding again, full of an odd melancholy the source of which I could only guess at.

I couldn't take the silence anymore, and I started in on more questions, which I hadn't yet had time for.

Answering seemed to distract him from whatever gloomy thoughts he was having, though I kept the the questions spread out, anxious he might get out of breath if I pushed too much.

"Childhood pets?" I asked at one point. "Are you a dog or a cat person?"

"Um," he said, as he placed a hand on the bark of a tree for support, carefully stepping over a fallen branch. "I had some fish before. Three."

"Really?" I said curiously. "What were their names?"

He shrugged. "I don't remember. They all died within a week. After that, I decided maybe it was better for me and pets everywhere if I recognized my limitations and gave it up."

I laughed aloud at that. I liked to hear his voice, and hear him joking.

We had been going for a few hours when the light overhead changed—the clouds were parted, and the sunlight was out. But I was still shielded by the shade of the thick forest. My panic began to mount again, as we neared the clearing. I could see the light filtering through the trees—soon, we would be on it. And then...and then.

"Are we there yet?" he asked, breaking the silence of the last half hour.

I glanced at him. His aspect had changed. His eyes were bright, excited, and whatever lingering gloom had hung over him most of the way seemed gone for the present.

I smiled. "Nearly. Do you see the clearer light ahead?

He squinted, then frowned. "Um, should I?"

"Maybe it is a bit soon for _your_ eyes," I conceded.

He sighed. "Time to visit the optometrist."

I grinned back—again, seeing him joking and cheerful instantly had me in a better mood, too.

We went a ways further, and he squinted again. As he did, his eyes widened slightly, intrigued, and I could tell he could see it now. He walked faster, eager, and I slowed to let him pass me.

As he reached the edge of the meadow, he sucked in a sharp breath. He halted there for a brief second, then strode forward into the sunlight.

His eyes swept the clearing, taking in the emerald grass and array of color from the wildflowers, a thick spattering of violet, yellow, and white. He peered around in wonder, his eyes going up to the blue sky and bright sunshine from above.

He turned back, smiling, but blinked when he saw I was no longer behind him. He turned fully around, and for a moment he looked bewildered, uneasy, as his eyes searched for me. He relaxed when his gaze finally found where I stood, just on the periphery still in the shadow of the trees.

He smiled, stretching out a hand toward me, beckoning me to join him. He paused, then started back toward me, but I raised a hand to stop him.

I breathed deeply, and his scent raked down my throat—before I stepped forward, right into the burning glare of the midday sun.

* * *

A/N: I made this one unnecessarily long this time, for some reason I was just really interested in Beau's experiences with bullies, since that seems to be something Beau struggled with that Bella didn't.

So close to the end now, I can't believe it. Next chapter will be the last main one, before the epilogue. (And Breaking Dawn will be starting up after that.) Thanks so much for reading, and for all your thoughts! If you have a moment, let me know what you thought this time around, and see you next time! :J

Posted 3/25/19


	17. Turning Point

A/N: Hey! We're finally here, the final chapter before the epilogue. Such a tough one—possibly the most difficult of this project, the constraints of having to go by the order of events in canon had a noticeable impact on natural flow this time around.

Hope you'll be able to forgive me on that, and enjoy it anyway. Thanks so much for sticking with me all this time, and see you at the end! C:

* * *

Chapter 16: Turning Point

I kept my eyes firmly closed as I stepped into the light.

Of course I felt no change. But I saw it in my mind's eye—the moment when my pale skin that could almost pass for that of a human was utterly transformed, glittering like the surface of hard diamond, a thousand tiny facets, refracting every color there was, so bright a human's eyes could barely look at me without pain in their fragile retinas.

I didn't open my eyes—I couldn't bear to look and see his reaction, not yet.

" _Edythe!"_

His voice cut through the quiet, high and panicked, and I heard the sound of his footsteps pounding against the grass as he ran.

Automatically, my eyes snapped open, and for a moment I was confused as I saw he was running _toward_ me, instead of away from me. He had one hand outstretched in front of him.

Whatever this reaction was, it wasn't what I'd been expecting—but then, it never was.

I quickly put up my hands, and he slowed to a stop. I was tense enough without having him so close, startling me with his sheer unpredictability.

He stared at me, his eyes wide, then he blinked and had to squint.

I stared back at him, unable to look away as I tried to understand the expression on his face. He was thinking something—churning this over in his mind. But what conclusions was he reaching? Finally truly understanding what I meant when I said I wasn't human?

As always, his thoughts were hidden from me, so all I could do was wait. Wait and...fear.

At last, finally, he took a slow, unsteady step toward me.

Automatically I drew back a half-step, afraid of how clearly he would see me if he came closer. I had chosen this particular shirt on purpose, leaving my arms and collarbone exposed, but now I almost wished I had been more conservative.

"Does that hurt you?" he asked, voice low with concern.

He was looking at my skin, the way it shimmered and flickered in the sunlight, still so bright to his eyes it must have looked white-hot and burning, like the surface of the sun.

"No," I answered softly.

He paused for a moment, then tentatively took another step toward me. This time, I let my hand fall, and made no sign to stop him. He stopped about several feet away from me, then turned slowly, walking all around me, keeping a wary measure of space between us all the time. I could feel his eyes studying me from every side, absorbing what I was.

My hands were clenched at my sides, and as he circled, for once I felt like the prey, helpless, unable to defend myself. His reaction would be what it would be, and there was nothing I could do to change it.

He at last came to a stop in the place he had started, before he deliberately took the last few steps to stand directly in front of me.

"Edythe," he breathed, sounding as though he'd been winded.

I forced myself to raise my eyes to his. "Are you scared now?" I whispered.

" _No_." His voice was emphatic, certain.

I stared back at him, trying to understand the quiet fierceness in his tone. Determined not to hurt my feelings? Or was this more of his bizarre calm in the face of that which was most horrifying, most alien?

He paused a moment longer, then his gaze flickered down to one of my arms. His eyes returned to my face before, slowly, he reached out a hand to touch.

I went as still as stone, startled—but I didn't signal him to back off, and he continued, until I felt the warmth of his fingertips brushing along the back, down to my wrist. He gazed down at the point where his hand met my arm, and his skin seemed to glow in the reflection from mine. He seemed perfectly relaxed, and yet a small crease formed between his eyebrows.

"What are you thinking?" I whispered at last.

He hesitated. "I am...I didn't know..." He couldn't seem to speak coherently. At last, he breathed deeply, then said in a steady, awed voice, "I've never seen anything more beautiful—never imagined anything so beautiful could exist."

I didn't answer. This was better than running away screaming, and yet, I wasn't sure if I felt happy or not. Maybe because a part of me still didn't believe it. Every moment I was with him, every time I shared some secret about myself, I was always on tenderhooks as I waited for his response. Maybe someone else would have been emboldened the first time he shrugged off some horrible, terrifying truth about our kind, and even more the second, or the third. But I was used to hearing thoughts, and I knew better than anyone just how quick minds were to change. Sometimes all it took was a single trigger to turn best friends into enemies, for magnanimity and trust to turn to suspicion and resentment.

What was more, I was used to hearing precise motivations, to understanding the reasons behind actions, and knowing whether the foundation of expressed feelings was built on something whimsical or flimsy, or rock-solid. But I was completely blind—I didn't know what thoughts might lie behind his actions. I didn't know if he was forcing himself to have such a positive reaction out of a fear of upsetting me. I didn't know if his calm was secure, or if he was, even now, teetering on the edge, and at any moment I may just push him one insane truth too far.

I lifted my hand automatically, wanting to touch him, but I forced it to drop back at my side. I had to be careful, more careful than I ever had before.

"It's very strange, though," I murmured, pointing out the obvious.

"Amazing," he said in a low, fervent voice, eyes studying me again.

"Aren't you repulsed by my flagrant lack of humanity?" I pressed.

He shook his head vigorously. "Not repulsed."

I gazed back at him and, for the first time, I was starting to believe him. But instead of relieved, I felt unsettled. It was like all the natural instincts inside him that were supposed to warn him of danger had been switched off. Like an untaught little boy drawn in by the bands of color on a poisonous snake.

"You should be," I said, a little forcefully.

"I'm feeling like humanity is pretty overrated," he answered, looking dazed.

Slightly annoyed now, and disturbed, I pulled my arm away from him, folding it behind my back so he couldn't touch it anymore, though I regretted the loss of warmth.

My rejection didn't make him step away. Just like the little boy, attracted by the snake, he took a step closer.

Maybe it was my distraction, worrying about his reaction to what I looked like in the sun, or maybe it was the warm air, but as he moved, the air suddenly swirled around me, and his scent was abruptly burning in my mouth and in my nose, concentrated, enhanced by the soft, warm air and subtle fragrance of wildflowers.

I didn't give myself time to consider, or the temptation time to build. I moved, instantly putting ten feet of space between us. I held up my hand again, warning him not to come closer.

He blinked, startled, and then his face turned penitent. "I'm sorry."

"I need some time," I called to him.

"I'll be more careful," he said.

I nodded, breathing deeply, forcing myself to concentrate on his overpowering scent as I inhaled, forcing myself to master it. I was the one who needed to be more careful. I needed to be thinking; I had to remember all the possible ways this might go wrong.

It was so frustrating—as strong as the scent was, I could endure it with a little space between us. But the moment he got close, as the more concentrated scent hit me, the pull seemed to magnify exponentially. I would steel my resolve, and then it would hit me, as powerful as that first time, all my basest instincts rising to the surface as I feverishly longed to taste that exquisite blood, to gorge myself on it.

Keeping my resolve firm, I turned slightly and strode across the meadow, keeping a set space between us as I passed by the place where he stood. I let myself sit down, facing away from him.

After a moment, I heard his footsteps as he approached me again, deliberately slow. He circled around, then finally gingerly sat down about five feet away, facing me.

"Is this all right?" he asked.

I nodded again, staring straight ahead. "Just let me...concentrate," I said quietly, and I let my eyes slide closed, focusing on nothing but him, and his burning scent.

I don't know how long I sat there, unmoving. I could have counted the seconds or the minutes, but my entire mind was consumed with the act of breathing in and out. I let the burning scent build in my nose, and in the back of my throat, allowing it to grow almost overpowering, then I focused on mastering it.

In spite of everything, in spite of how far I had come, in spite of knowing I couldn't live without him, the insidious thoughts of the long-dormant monster wormed their way in amidst my determination— _If you're going to slip up, now is the time,_ it whispered. _No one would know, no one would ever suspect. You know you will slip up sometime. Isn't it better now than later, spare yourself the endless agony of worry?_

However, I shoved the thoughts viciously back, even as my mind swirled in a dizzying fog, the temptation trying to conquer my will, and I trying to conquer the temptation.

He never spoke, never interrupted my thoughts, only patiently waited. I don't know how long it must have seemed to him, but it felt like an eternity to me, as the war raged within, as I tried to convince myself I could emerge the victor. That my will could be strong enough to overcome, even if the strength of my addiction never faded. That I could be strong enough to never fear a moment of weakness or fatal distraction, no matter how close I got to him.

Finally, I sighed, and I laid back in the grass, resting my head on one hand. I continued to breathe deeply in and out.

He seemed to take the movement as a sign that he was allowed to speak, and he asked, "Can I...?"

I understood what he wanted, and I patted the ground right beside me.

Cautiously, he moved a little closer, then closer still. He stopped there, barely a foot from where I was.

I continued to breathe steadily, continuing to concentrate as the power of his scent strengthened with proximity, swirling around me in the air as he moved. My meditations had helped, I thought, but the tension wouldn't leave my body. I had to force myself to keep breathing, to keep taking in the fire that left my mouth feeling parched and desiccated, knowing I would never quench that thirst.

I was intentionally subjecting myself to an intense physical torture—telling myself that I could I live day after day, year after year, eternally famished and weak from hunger, my throat forever dry, swollen from the thirst and burning. I told myself I could live through the pain, no matter how intense—never fearing there would come a day, a moment, where the desire to find relief overpowered my resolve.

 _Better now_ , whispered the monster, _than later._

Carine's face flashed behind my eyelids, her kind, ever gentle and understanding face. As the fear and anguish rose in my chest, without really thinking about it, I felt my mouth open, and a quiet sound poured out.

It had been a long time since I had sung. Longer even than I had gone without playing the piano. But now I softly breathed the words, too low for human ears to understand.

"Did you...say something?" he asked. I could feel his eyes on my face, watching my every breath, my every movement.

I paused. "Just singing to myself," I answered in a murmur. "It calms me."

Again, quiet and stillness fell over the meadow, and time passed. I continued to sing softly under my breath, hymns of prayer that Carine had shown me that she had sung in her youth. Of the songs I had sung before, I had never sung these—it had always seemed wrong, blasphemous to me, the idea of a vampire praying. Even Carine, who did not believe our souls had been lost in our dark transformation, I had never seen offer up a prayer to God. I tried not to see her innermost thoughts, but I knew even she, as good as she was, as kind and humble and generous—she was ashamed to pray, being what she was.

My quiet songs of prayer seemed wrong. How dare a monster, a monster who longed for human blood, and above all longed for the blood of this particular innocent, kind, generous human, pray for strength in the face of turmoil, the strength to resist temptation? And yet, the words of the songs I had never sung flowed out of me with ease, as natural as my breath coming in and out, in a cycle that never ceased. At long last, I felt the tension drain from my body, and I felt at peace.

I drew in a deep breath, feeling the burn. Yet when it reached my lungs, this time the pain didn't torment me as it had before, as I imagined the endless days and years of it ahead of me. Instead, I was content, to take each moment as it came, and I was blissful, enjoying the feel of everything even through the pain. The light of the sun on my face, the feel of the soft grass beneath my back, and most of all, his warm presence beside me.

He seemed to sense when the atmosphere calmed and the tension eased. I suddenly felt the tip of his finger on the back of my hand, and he stroked it gently, carefully.

I finally opened my eyes and he froze, looking back at me guiltily. I smiled back.

"I still don't scare you, do I?" I asked.

"Nope. Sorry."

My grin widened until he could see my teeth.

He blinked, and then moved slowly, carefully, a little closer. His eyes shifted back to where his hand touched mine. Delicately, he ran the tip of his fingers up over my wrist and along my forearm. They left a warm, tingling trail in their wake.

I let my eyes slide closed, wanting to fully absorb the sensation. However, after a second, his hand hesitated.

"Do you mind?" he asked, seemingly as an afterthought.

"No," I sighed, eyes still closed. "You can't imagine how that feels."

Carefully, gently, he resumed, his fingers tracing up to the inside of my elbow and back, like an artist sketching a painting. He reached for my hand next, and as I realized what he was aiming for, I flipped my hand over, palm up, willingly. His hand froze briefly, startled by my sudden movement.

"Sorry," I murmured, then smiled, because usually he was the one apologizing. My eyes had opened briefly, but I let them fall closed again. "It's too easy to be myself with you."

It was true. Right now I felt more relaxed, peaceful, than I could ever remember being. Did that mean I had conquered it? That there wouldn't ever be any danger to him again?

Here in the bright sunshine, surrounded by beauty and with him beside me, it was easy to think so.

I opened my eyes again to watch him. He was holding up my hand, and he carefully turned it one way, then another, watching the way the color glittered off the surface, eyes wide with fascination. He drew it close to his face to examine it, and I found myself reminded of how he'd looked through the microscope at the specimen on the slide that second day of Biology. I had to bite back a laugh.

Because I wanted to hear his voice again, I whispered, "Tell me what you're thinking. It's still so strange for me, not knowing."

He raised an eyebrow. "The rest of us feel that way all the time, you know."

"It's a hard life." I meant it to sound like a joke, but an oddly forlorn note crept into my tone. And then, because I noticed he had effortlessly evaded the question as he so often did, I added, "But you didn't tell me."

He looked back at me thoughtfully. "I was wishing I could know what _you_ were thinking..."

"And?" I pressed lightly.

"I was wishing that I could believe that you were real," he said slowly. "I'm afraid..."

"I don't want you to be afraid," I said softly.

He glanced back at me. All the time I had been telling him over and over that he ought to be afraid of me, even gotten angry when he barely reacted to the ugly truths I'd told him. But I was sure he could see in my face I meant what I said—I didn't want him to be afraid, for there to be any reason for him to be afraid.

He shook his head, agitated. "That's not the kind of fear I meant."

Before I'd fully thought through what I was doing, I was sitting up, leaning on my right arm, his hands still holding mine. His head was bent slightly toward me, and suddenly his face was barely a few inches from mine.

I should have pulled away, but I didn't. This was what I wanted—to be close to him. Close enough to be mesmerized by his deep, sky blue eyes. I could withstand the pain of his scent this close—couldn't I?

"Then what are you afraid of?" I whispered.

I expected him to pull away, startled by my sudden proximity. However, he blinked once and, expression slightly dazed, leaned toward me, breathing in.

He was suddenly close—his concentrated scent swirling in the air around me, the steady thud of his heartbeat in my ears. I stared straight ahead, and his pale neck was inches from my mouth, the skin flushed with the hot, rushing blood beneath.

Venom rose in my mouth, ravenous hunger exploding to life in my stomach as flames tore down my throat in pain so acute I could barely think—

With every bit of willpower I possessed, I cut off the air from my lungs and tore my hand from his. In an instant I was back across the clearing, and I stood once again in the shadow of the trees, my skin human once more.

The taste of the scent continued to sear the back of my throat, and I concentrated. At last I raised my eyes to gaze back at where he sat, and found he was frozen where he was, his eyes wide.

"Edythe," he began, voice low and rough. "I'm...sorry."

Always apologizing.

"Give me a moment," I called to him.

He waited for me, as I checked my resolve, making sure I was in absolute control. I breathed deeply, letting the scent run through me again, making certain my concentration was firm. Finally, I stepped out from the shadows again, letting the sun play over my skin. I approached with exaggerated slowness—my sudden movement must have startled him.

When I sat down this time, I kept a few feet between us.

"I am so very sorry," I said softly, soothingly. I smiled a little. "Would you understand what I meant if I said I was only human?"

He nodded, but he didn't return the smile. His eyes were still slightly wide, and I could hear his heart, continuing to jackhammer in his chest. There was an unusual taste in his scent—I recognized it. It was the same as the scent that filled my nostrils when, in that moment when I struck down my prey, the poor beast understood what was happening, in that brief second it had time to feel fear. Adrenaline.

I could smell it in the air as it continued to course through his veins, and I knew it was not the kind induced by excitement. He stared back at me, frozen, and I knew he knew as well as I did exactly what had almost happened. Just how close it had been.

Something inside me shifted. Panic like nothing I'd ever felt shot through me like a bolt of lightning, electric, down my arms and up my back. The glittering sunlight was no longer beautiful, but dark, oppressive. It seemed to press in around me like a cage. It had finally come—I could see him trying to compose himself, but it was too late. The fear was in his eyes, cold and irrevocable. The end was racing upon me now, and there was nothing I could do to stop it.

And, strangely, the inevitability of it left me calm again. Like a doomed soldier on the battlefield in his last moments, I was seized with a wild recklessness. It was over. The fantasy would soon come to an end. But before it did, I would make him see. I would make him understand.

"I'm the world's best predator, aren't I?" I said softly, and I stared at him with hard eyes. "Everything about me invites you in—my voice, my face, even my _smell_." A single harsh laugh escaped me. "As if I needed any of that!"

I was suddenly on my feet. In an instant, with all the speed I possessed, I circled the entire meadow. I halted in front of the same tree as before, stopping as quickly as I had started. He blinked—he hadn't even had time to turn his head.

"As if you could outrun me," I said, my lip curling with bitter self-mockery.

In an instant, I coiled the muscles in my legs before I sprang, a dozen feet straight up with no effort at all. Still in midair, I reached out a hand and seized one of the thickest branches of the tree, wrenching it free with ease in a hail of splinters and bark.

I didn't pause to think. The moment my feet touched the ground, with one arm I swung my weapon, without even turning my eyes to the target—I heard the shattering of wood and an echoing groan as the great broken trunk began to tilt.

In the blink of an eye, I moved again, and I was suddenly in the sun again, barely two feet from where he sat, still frozen.

"As if you could fight me off," I said gently. The ground shuddered beneath my feet as the felled tree struck the forest floor behind me.

For the first time I was released from all my careful restraints. I felt the strength surge through me, and the sense of freedom filled my chest and lungs, exhilarating, intoxicating. I was powerful, I was in control—nothing could stop me. I had nothing to fear.

He gazed back up at me, still unmoving where he was, face frozen in shock as he watched me. I stared into his wide blue eyes, and just like that first day in Biology, I saw my own face reflected in them. I saw the monster.

The glow of the wild moment slowly faded. The sense of loss, of defeat, returned, more complete than before. It was over now. My fantasy, my dream. Now he had seen for himself the monster that lurked beneath the surface. I was faster and more powerful than he could have imagined, inhuman, but more than that he had seen the predator. The savage beast behind the good intentions, that would take delight in the hunt, if only I allowed it.

I bowed my head, and for all the power I had displayed a moment before, I felt suddenly fragile, as though in a moment I might break apart.

He finally unfroze, and shifted clumsily up onto his knees. His brow creased with concern, he stretched out a hand toward me.

I stared back at him, and I was filled at once with both remorse for my reckless actions, for flaunting my power and his own helplessness before me, and with wonder. The dead hope revived itself once again. Would he still accept me, even now? Did he still see me as something other than the monster I was?

I stared back at him. Something seemed to expand in my chest, filling my heart full to bursting. This time it was not revelry in the tremendous power I possessed, but something warm and gentle. I was not worthy of him. I could never be worthy of him, not one so kind or understanding. But I longed to be—I longed to make myself as deserving as I possibly could.

He was still in the act of moving toward me, as though to comfort me, but I raised a hand to stop him where he was. "Wait," I whispered. He stopped, though his hand remained outstretched, offering it to me to take.

I stared down into his face, and found a faint glow to his skin in the sunlight. It was so painfully beautiful, and I had never been so aware of how fragile that beauty was. Like a sculpture of finest glass.

I stepped toward him, and I gazed at his frozen form with a plea in my eyes. "Don't be afraid," I whispered, but the moment the words left my mouth, I knew the tone was wrong—still the smooth, luring voice of a predator.

I tried again. "I promise..." I hesitated there, wondering what I could possibly promise him that I might not someday break. But in this moment, I was determined—I _would_ keep it, I _would_ be better. Not worthy, but as worthy as I could possibly make myself.

"I _swear_ I will not hurt you," I said, with force, and yet the hint of uncertainty would not go away. "You don't have to be afraid."

I took another step, even slower, more careful than before. I reached out tentatively, but he did not draw his offered hand away, and I cautiously touched it with my fingers. His hand closed automatically around mine, and he held it firmly.

It felt like we were shaking hands, like we were making some kind of binding agreement.

"Please forgive me," I said formally. "I can control myself." I added, "You caught me off guard. I'm on my best behavior now."

He didn't answer, only stared up at me, still stunned. But he had already reached out his hand to me—forgiven me for my lapse, for my abominably poor manners. I could feel the heat from his hand flowing into mine as he gripped it tightly.

I smiled a little. "I'm not thirsty today, honestly," I said with a bit of a wink.

He blinked, and laughed, coming out of his stupor.

"Are you all right?" I asked gently, placing my other hand carefully over his.

He stared down at our joined hands for a moment, before he raised his gaze back to my face. Then, suddenly, his face broke out into a wide smile, and I couldn't help but beam back.

Carefully, I sank down on the grass in front of him, sitting, and he shifted. Our hands never broke.

"So," I said, "where were we, before I behaved so rudely?"

He shook his head. "I honestly have no idea."

I smiled, in spite of the deep ache of remorse that rose up inside me. I knew I had frightened him this time. Though I had no right to expect it, he still accepted me, had forgiven me. His goodness really knew no bounds—making my behavior all the more appalling.

"I think we were talking about why you were afraid, besides the obvious reason," I said. Not that he didn't have plenty of reason to be afraid for the obvious reason now.

"Oh, right." He frowned.

"Well?" I pressed.

Instead of answering, his eyes dropped to our joined hands again. He watched the glittering color of my skin in the sun.

I waited a long moment, but when he still didn't speak, I sighed. "How easily frustrated I am," I murmured.

He looked back up at me, studying my face, staring into my eyes.

He said at last, "I was afraid...because for, well, obvious reasons, I probably can't _stay_ with you, can I? And that's what I want, much more than I should."

I paused. "Yes," I said slowly. "Being with me has never been in your best interest." My eyes wandered briefly from his. "I should have left that first day and not come back," I murmured, almost to myself. "I should leave now."

However, after a moment, I shook my head, and my gaze returned to his. "I might have been able to do it then. I don't know how to do it now."

He gazed back at me, frowning, and I could see the defiance in his eyes. "Don't. Please."

My mouth tightened as I gaze back into his determined face. I'd hated the fact I'd frightened him a moment ago—but maybe that was wrong. Maybe I hadn't yet frightened him enough.

"Don't worry," I said a little coldly. "I'm essentially a selfish creature. I crave your company too much to do what I should."

His returning look was defiant. "Good!"

A flicker of anger pulsed through me again. I withdrew my hands from his, folding my arms across my chest where he couldn't reach them again.

"You should never forget that it's not only your company I crave," I said. "Never forget that I am more dangerous to you than I am to anyone else."

He considered that for a long moment, gazing at me as I focused on the dark trees of the forest, just beyond the clearing.

At last he said, "I don't think I understand exactly what you mean by that last part."

I glanced back at him, at the slight frown on his face, and I couldn't help but smile again. I guess I never really had exactly outlined this particular facet of the truth. Every time I wondered if there was anything more to reveal, I remembered another secret, more disturbing than the last.

"How do I explain?" I murmured. "And without horrifying you?" Then again, perhaps at this point, a healthy dose of horror might be exactly what he needed.

I found my hand automatically reaching back out for his. He took it willingly, wrapping his fingers around it.

I gazed down at our hands, distracted for a moment. "That's amazingly pleasant, the warmth," I murmured, without really thinking about it. Perhaps unconsciously trying to delay the moment I would have to tell him.

He watched my face, patiently waiting for my answer.

I considered for a long moment, staring down at our hands. At last I closed my eyes briefly, then let my gaze finally rise to meet his.

"You know how everyone enjoys different flavors?" I said. "Some people love chocolate ice cream, others prefer strawberry?"

He nodded uncertainly.

I added, "I apologize for the food analogy—I couldn't think of a better way to explain."

He grinned, as though he found it funny, and I couldn't help but smile back, but I couldn't make it stretch very far.

"You see," I said slowly, "every person has their own scent, their own essence..."

I paused, then went on, "If you locked an alcoholic in a room full of stale beer, she'd drink it. But she could resist, if she wished to. If she were a recovering alcoholic. Now let's say you placed in that room a glass of hundred-year-old brandy, the rarest, finest glass of cognac—and filled that room with its warm aroma—how do you think our alcoholic would fare then?"

I gazed back at him expectantly. However, he made no discernible response, only gazed back into my face, and seemed to be waiting for me to continue. I could only conclude that my analogy hadn't been strong enough. I searched for something else.

"Maybe that's not the right comparison," I said. "Maybe it would be too easy to turn down the brandy. Perhaps I should have made our alcoholic a heroin addict instead."

A slow smile played on the corner of his lips. "So what you're saying is, I'm your brand of heroin?"

I couldn't help but smile back at the humor, so inappropriate in the face of the horror we were discussing. "Yes," I said, "you are _exactly_ my brand of heroin."

He looked at me curiously. "Does that happen often?"

I understood what he meant, and my eyes wandered to the treetops as my thoughts returned to those conversations what already seemed so long ago.

"I spoke to my sisters about it," I said at last, thinking back to Eleanor's memories in the classroom, and Jessamine sitting beside me on the cliff at Goat Rocks. I added slowly, reluctantly, "To Jessamine, every one of you is much the same. She's the most recent to join our family. It's a struggle for her to abstain at all. She hasn't had time to grow sensitive to the differences in smell, in flavor." I realized what I was saying, and my gaze flashed back to him. "I'm sorry," I said quickly.

However, the look of curiosity on his face hadn't changed. "It's fine," he said. "Look, don't worry about offending me, or horrifying me, or whatever. That's the way you think. I can understand, or I can try to at least. Just explain however it makes sense to you."

I breathed deeply. It never ceased to amaze me, how my insensitivity never seemed to bother him. How his understanding never seemed to have any limits.

I let my gaze drift away once again, and continued.

"So Jessamine wasn't sure if she'd ever come across someone who was as— _appealing_ as you are to me." I added, "Which makes me think not. She would remember _this_." My eyes returned to him briefly, but again there was no reaction. My eyes soon returned to the treetops.

"El has been on the wagon longer, so to speak, and she understood what I meant. She says twice, for her, once stronger than the other."

"And for you?" he asked.

My eyes returned to his, and his expression was serious, but still simply curious rather than wary.

"Never before this," I whispered.

We continued to look at each other, and for a moment, it was silent. At last he asked, "What did Eleanor do?"

I couldn't hold his gaze, as the images from the orchard filled my mind, and the call of the man's blood. Guilt flooded through me, as if Eleanor's memories were my own, as if the guilty delight of the indescribable taste that had filled her senses were my own.

"Okay," he said at last when I didn't reply. "So I guess that was a dumb question."

There was a tinge of something in his tone that I couldn't quite identify. It wasn't accusation, or disapproval, and yet—his tone wasn't quite as gentle or kind as before. I wondered if he was picturing it too, the innocent man, lying dead in the grass. He may not be afraid for himself, may not blame me for anything, even though he should. But the thought of seeing other people hurt was perhaps more repugnant to him than anything I had said so far.

"Even the strongest of us fall off the wagon, don't we?" I said softly, looking into his eyes, knowing we didn't deserve to ask for his forgiveness, his understanding, but pleading for it anyway.

A strange expression flickered across his face as he looked at me, at the expression I wore now.

"Are you..." he began slowly, "...asking for my permission?" I felt through our hands as a hint of a shudder wracked his frame.

For an instant, the image of the man in the orchard was replaced with an image of Beau, and a spike of horror shot through me.

"No!" I gasped.

"But you're saying there's no hope, right?" he said, his voice oddly calm now.

The thought was intolerable—in a way, even more intolerable than the thought of him, still and lifeless in the sun, glowing skin pale and gray with death. The thought that the end of this story was already inevitable, that there wasn't even a chance of a happy ending.

"Of course there's hope," I insisted. "Of course I won't..." I couldn't make myself finish, to say the words. _Kill you._

I continued earnestly, "It's different for us. El...these were strangers she happened across. It was a long time ago. She wasn't as practiced, as careful as she is now. And she's never been as good at this as I am." As the words spilled out, I willed them to be true—that our differences in circumstances would ensure the outcome would be different as well. It had to be.

I watched him carefully as he considered this.

At last he took a breath. "So," he said, "if we'd met...oh, in a dark alley or something..."

Of course he had read the implication of what I hadn't said, as clearly as if I had said it out loud.

I was committed now, to telling him the entire truth, holding nothing back. "It took everything I had," I whispered, "—every single year of practice and effort—not to jump up in the middle of that class full of children and—"

The memories of the moment overtook me. I remembered the intensity, every single dark thought that passed through my mind a thousand times in that short hour. I had nearly become a murderer of the most brutal and vicious kind. I had fully intended on it. Only a miracle had prevented the scene from becoming a scene of blood and death.

I continued softly, "When you walked past me, I could have ruined everything Carine has built for us, right then and there. If I hadn't been denying my thirst for the last...too many years, I wouldn't have been able to stop myself."

I explained the entire story from the beginning. How I'd plotted a thousand ways to lure him away from the others, to get him alone. How, when I'd tried to rearrange my schedule in a hopeless attempt to avoid him, once again I nearly struck him down. How I'd taken Carine's car to flee, gone to Alaska, then convinced myself I was strong enough to endure it and came back. How I'd been determined to smooth things over, to talk normally and make him think my strange behavior before was all in his imagination, but ended up becoming fascinated, engrossed in reading his expressions, understanding the one mind that was silent to me. How, when the van nearly crushed him, I had reacted before I fully understood why, and how it had seemed to change everything—how, along with Carine and Archie, I fought the others to keep him alive.

I left out the part of Archie's visions—the twin futures, his death or his immortality. I was going to be honest with him from now on, but I'd already decided I would never even broach the topic of his potential change. That was not an option—I would never ask it of him. I knew if I did, after everything he had already accepted, he might very well agree to it, even ask for it. But he wouldn't know what he was asking, and I would never let him make such a sacrifice. That was the one thing I would never compromise.

I continued—how, after the near-miss of the van, I had watched him in the minds of others, waiting for him to tell the story, and was shocked when he never did. How I had been determined to stay away, and how the fragrance of his blood continued to torment me.

When I finished, my distant gaze refocused on him. I watched his face as he finally understood what must have seemed so bizarre, so strange, at last finding out the reasons behind all my illogical behavior. I felt it suddenly rise in my cold chest, swelling until my heart felt like it would burst. All the love that had been building all this time, that had been unavoidable from the very beginning. Agony and warmth flooded through me together as one.

"And for all that," I murmured, "I'd have fared better if I _had_ exposed us all that first moment, than if now, here—with no witnesses and nothing to stop me—I were to hurt you."

He gazed back at me, his light blue eyes bewildered. That same expression that had tormented me in Alaska what felt like an age ago. "Why?"

"Oh, Beau," I said softly. I reached up, and I let my fingertips carefully caress the side of his face. I wondered that, even after all this, all I had said, he still didn't seem to understand.

"Beau," I murmured, "I couldn't survive hurting you. You don't know how it's tortured me..." My eyes dropped, and for a moment I couldn't bear to look in his face, as the images I despised passed through my mind. "The thought of you, still, white, cold...to never see your face turn red again, to never see that flash of intuition in your eyes when you see through my pretenses...I couldn't bear it."

I had never before said anything that was so true, that so exposed my truest, deepest thoughts. Every day I saw the thoughts of others, things that would embarrass them if they knew that I could see, make them angry, hurt them. I saw everything that was supposed to be personal, private. Now it was my own thoughts spilling out, and there was perhaps never anything more terrifying.

I stared up into his eyes. "You are the most important thing to me now," I said softly. "The most important thing to me ever."

He stared down at me for a long second, surprised. Then he gripped my hand more tightly, his eyes never turning away from mine.

"You already know how I feel," he said earnestly, the words coming out in a rush. "I'm here because I would rather die than live without you."

He frowned then, as though he wished he hadn't shared that. "Sorry," he muttered, "I'm an idiot."

"You are an idiot," I agreed, but I couldn't help but laugh at his expression, and soon, he was laughing too, at the pure absurdity of this conversation, of this entire situation. It was a release to laugh.

When our laughter finally died away, I shook my head. "And so," I murmured, almost to myself, "the lion fell in love with the lamb."

He blinked, then smiled a bit. "What a stupid lamb."

I sighed, smiling ruefully. "What a sick, masochistic lion."

My eyes drifted to the forest yet again. I wanted more than anything to be a safe lion. Tame. What had once been my natural prey never in any danger from me. But every time I let myself think I might have finally conquered my instincts, they rose up again, monstrous and powerful as before. What could I do, to make myself more safe for him? What could I do, to do everything I could, to ensure that the love would always win out over the monster?

He was watching me. "Why...?" he began at last slowly. He hesitated.

My eyes flickered back to him, and I smiled—every moment with him was a blessing, a gift. "Yes?" I said.

His eyebrows furrowed, perplexed. "Tell me why you ran away from me before."

I didn't know how to answer. "You know why," I said quietly, my voice serious.

He shook his head vigorously. "No, I mean _exactly_ what did I do wrong?" he insisted. "I need to learn how to make this easier for you, what I should and shouldn't do." His eyes were fierce and determined. He glanced down, and I felt him rub his thumb along the inside edge of my wrist. "This, for example, seems to be all right."

I shook my head—of course he was blaming himself. When I was the one who had gotten overconfident, careless. "You didn't do anything wrong, Beau. It was my fault."

He frowned, and his gaze was steady as he looked at me. "But I want to help," he insisted again, quietly.

I considered, as I played the event in my thoughts again, exactly how it had happened. "Well..." I began at last, slowly. "It was just how close you were. Most humans instinctively shy away from us, are repelled by our alienness...I wasn't expecting you to come so close. And the smell of your _throat—"_

I hesitated, my eyes darting up to his face.

"Okay," he said seriously, dipping his chin with almost comic exaggeration. "No throat exposure."

I had to smile. "No, really, it was more the surprise than anything else."

I paused, and for a second, I stared back at him. No mistakes—that was what I had told myself, over and over. But I was beginning to wonder if that were possible. So often we were drawn together, naturally, irresistibly, like magnetism—a force of nature we couldn't seem to fight. It seemed inevitable that at times we would come close, at moments when I wasn't expecting it, when I wasn't mentally prepared.

I wondered if I could train myself. If, by doing it over and over enough times, I could make it so my first reaction when he came unexpectedly close was to stop everything, to draw back, rather than attack him. If I could change my automatic impulse purely through repetition, familiarity, this wouldn't be half so dangerous for him. But if I were to do that, I would have to deliberately let myself get close, get used to being close, so when he drew near, it wouldn't trigger the monster when I wasn't prepared for it. Could I do that? Could I let myself get that near to him, and not be overpowered by my instincts?

I was terrified at the thought, of deliberately taking such a risk, but I had to. Better close as possible now, when I was prepared, than to be taken off guard again and make a mistake I couldn't take back.

 _Mind over matter,_ I thought. And I willed it to be true.

Slowly, carefully, I reached out, and I gently placed my hand against the side of his neck. I could feel the pulse of his blood in the artery below the skin, and I felt it speed at my touch. I concentrated, forcing myself to stay relaxed as his warm skin burned against mine.

"You see?" I murmured. "Perfectly fine."

His pulse quickened even more, and I saw patches color beginning to creep up his face again.

I smiled. "I love that," I said softly, as I pulled my remaining hand from his grasp so I could reach up and touch his face where the blood had already flooded behind his skin. I cradled his face in my hands, gazing up at him.

"Be very still," I instructed softly.

He did as I said, and I slowly, carefully leaned forward, until my head rested against his chest, until the sound of his beating heart drowned out all else. Slowly, I let my hands drop from his face to his shoulders, and then I wrapped my arms around his neck, pulling myself against him.

We were as close as we had ever been. I heard the sound of each beat of his heart as it pounded hard, heard the rush of his blood through his veins. I breathed deeply, letting the concentrated scent wash over me, engulf me. I was aware of nothing else but the feeling of his soft, warm body against my hard, cold one, the sound of his beating heart, and the scent that sent flames raking through my throat with every breath.

"Ah," I sighed, and even I couldn't be sure if it was a sigh of agony, or of bliss.

We stayed like that for a long time. He didn't try to pull away, though I could only imagine how cold he must be beginning to feel, with my hands touching his bare neck, and my head against his chest, nothing but a thin T-shirt to shield him. I didn't move, until at last his racing heart began to slow, evening out to a steady, normal rhythm. I finally pulled away to look up into his face.

"It won't be so hard again," I said, smiling.

He nodded. "Was that very hard for you?"

"Not nearly as bad as I imagined it would be," I said, the smile still lingering on my lips. I continued to stare up into his face—perhaps it was simply the absence of the color of a moment before, but I thought he looked a little pale. I added, "And you?"

"No," he said, "that wasn't...bad for me." In the pause, I thought I read something else. Like saying it _wasn't bad_ was an understatement.

We both smiled.

I realized I felt good. Better than good. Everything that had happened was beginning to sink in. His acceptance, and my latest, resounding victory over the monster.

"Here," I said, still smiling, and I took his hand in mine. It felt more natural than ever before. I placed his hand up against my cheek. "Do you feel how warm you've made me?"

He didn't reply. Instead, he was gazing down at me with a strange expression. His eyes burned, as if he were contemplating something.

He paused. Then, as I had said before, he said softly, "Don't move."

I stared back at him for a second, and I saw what he wanted. I closed my eyes, and obediently I went absolutely motionless.

Very slowly, carefully, as if I were the one he were afraid of breaking, he ran his thumb along the side of my face, then carefully traced my closed eyelids with the very tip of his finger, then my nose, and finally, my lips. My mouth opened automatically, so his careful touch would be unobstructed.

He touched my neck carefully with his palms, then traced the shape of my collarbone with his thumbs. He reached around my back and, moving a little more quickly than before, he traced the shape of my shoulder blades, before I felt him pull me toward him. I moved willingly with the direction of his pull, until my head rested against his chest, as before. His arms wrapped around my waist.

This time, however, I didn't breathe as I listened to his heartbeat in his chest. If I had a pulse, it would be racing in my veins. I was in danger of becoming distracted.

I felt his face briefly in my hair, and he breathed deeply. Then, too soon, he pulled away. He was finished, though he kept one hand on my wrist, as though wanting to maintain some kind of contact.

"Sorry," he muttered.

I opened my eyes. Apologizing as usual—though in this case, perhaps it was partially warranted. As I stared back into his eyes, the burning trails of his touch still lingering on my skin, my collarbone, my eyes, my nose, my lips—my control over myself didn't feel quite so secure. This was definitely not making it easier.

He stared into my eyes, and I knew there was no mask concealing how I was feeling, and I heard as his pulse began to race again.

"I wish..." I began slowly, haltingly, "I wish that you could feel the...complexity...the confusion...I feel. That you could understand."

I reached up to run my fingers along the curve of his jaw again, then ran them through his dark hair.

"Tell me," he said softly, his eyes never moving from mine.

I let my hand slide back down to cradle his face, and I sighed. "I don't know if I can. You know, on the one hand, the hunger—the thirst—that, being what I am, I feel for you. And I think you can understand that, to an extent." I smiled a little. "Though, as you are not addicted to any illegal substances, you probably can't empathize completely." Humans understood the basic need of hunger, though I doubted he could have ever experienced it in a way that could, in any way, come close to this. I was glad for that—I didn't want him to have to suffer this kind of agony.

I hesitated, then continued slowly, uncertainly. "But..." I shifted the hand cupping his face, letting my fingertips brush against his lips. "There are other things I want, other hungers. Hungers I don't even understand myself."

I heard his heart quicken again, and he gazed back at me. "I might understand that better than you think," he said.

I stared back at him, and in this moment, the way his eyes seemed to burn, I didn't have trouble believing him. I smiled a little.

"I'm not used to feeling so human," I admitted. "Is it always like this?"

He stared back at me, frowning slightly now. "For me?" He considered for a moment. "No, never. Never before this."

The strange longing in his eyes was suddenly painful, combining with my own, compounding it. Slowly, gently, I cradled his face in my hands, gazing up at him. "I don't know how to be close to you," I said softly, wretchedly. "I don't know if I can."

I expected a sinking of disappointment, or perhaps an argument—but his expression never changed. After a moment, he leaned forward, until his forehead rested lightly against mine. He closed his eyes with a sigh, and his expression was relaxed, with a contentment so profound it seemed to settle over me, too.

"This is enough," he said softly.

We sat in silence for a moment, and I felt all my new raging hungers slowly quiet. Not gone, but in the background, endurable. Everything was peaceful. How kind he was, how understanding—even more than I had ever given him credit for. He did understand a little of what I meant, what I felt—and he would still give up the things he wanted. All for this.

He was willing to make the sacrifice. But I didn't want him to—as much for his sake as for my own. I wondered if there was a way. If I could be strong enough after all.

I leaned up, and pressed my lips to his warm forehead. I pulled back again swiftly when I heard his heart erupt, hammering so loud I could barely hear myself think. However, I smiled. Having my lips against his skin—it hadn't felt as dangerous as I would have expected.

He was staring back at me, his eyes slightly wide. Fear, or excitement? For once, I almost didn't care—triumph and euphoria pulsed through me now, and even if he was afraid, this feeling now was worth it.

"You're a lot better at this than you give yourself credit for," he managed at last, his voice almost accusing.

I pulled away, taking both of his hands in mine. "I was born with human instincts," I said, a little dismissively. "They may be buried deep, but they exist."

We stayed there for a long moment, simply staring back at one another, as the full weight of everything that had happened slowly sank in. I absorbed every detail, the now fading sun glittering across my skin, his scent in my nose, mingled with the scent of grass and wildflowers, the feeling of his warm hands in mine.

At last, however, he sighed, and his eyes flickered toward the west, where the sun was dropping toward the horizon, and the long shadows of the trees were beginning to creep toward us. He looked reluctant, but resigned.

"You have to go," I said, before he could speak.

He blinked and turned back to me. "I thought you couldn't read my mind."

I smiled back. "It's getting clearer."

I paused then, as a thought suddenly occurred to me. I remembered the endlessly long trek through the woods this morning, and I knew such a journey would probably take us even longer as the light began to fade. It wouldn't do for us to not get back to his house until after dark. Besides, unlike this morning, right now I wasn't in any mood to go anywhere slow.

"Can I show you something?" I asked eagerly. My heart was light, and I felt suddenly giddy, excited—I wanted to show him everything about my world. What before had been a constant teetering balance was certain now. We had both made our decisions. He was mine, and I was his. For as long as he wanted.

He saw my excitement, and he smiled. "Anything."

My grin widened. "How about a faster way back to the truck?"

His acquiescent expression, ready to give me anything I wanted, suddenly turned wary.

"Don't you want to see how I travel in the forest?" I asked. Then I added, hardly able to keep the laughter out of my voice, "I promise it's safe."

He frowned, still suspicious. "Will you...turn into a bat?" he asked cautiously.

The laughter escaped me, too loud in the quiet. But I didn't care. I was euphoric, I was floating on air, and I didn't care who or what in the forest knew it. "Like I haven't heard _that_ one before!"

"Right," he muttered, "I'm sure you get that all the time."

I climbed eagerly to my feet, too fast for his eyes to follow, and he blinked. But when I offered him my hand, he took it without hesitation.

We both stood there for a second, then I turned away from him. I glanced back at him over my shoulder.

"Climb on my back."

"Huh?" He looked confused.

Trying to galvanize him out of his stupor, I said, "Don't be a coward, Beau—" As if he would, in any lifetime, ever need that advice—"I promise this won't hurt."

He stared down at me like I was crazy. "Edythe," he said at last. "I don't...I mean, _how_?"

I turned back around, arms folded. "Surely you're familiar with the concept of a piggyback ride?" I was sure he must be, but perhaps I shouldn't take anything for granted. I readied myself to explain the mechanics of what I wanted him to do.

He shrugged. "Sure, but..."

"What's the problem, then?" I said impatiently.

"Well..." he said at last, looking me up and down. "You're so _small._ "

I sighed dramatically. Then, without another word, I turned and took off into the forest at full tilt, too fast for him to follow. I went to a giant boulder I had seen just on the edge, easily half as big as I was, and casually picked it up. I was back to where he was standing before he'd even had time to blink.

He rolled his eyes. "That's not what I meant. I'm not saying you're not _strong_ enough—"

I tossed the boulder casually over my shoulder, and it landed with a heavy crash back in the woods, the shock of the landing so powerful we both felt the tremble of the ground beneath our feet.

"Obviously," he said again. He hesitated, glancing back at my slight frame uncertainly. "But I...How would I fit?"

I spun back around again, offering my back. "Trust me," I insisted.

He paused. Then slowly, cautiously, he approached, tentatively wrapping his arms around my neck.

"Come on," I said. If this took any longer, it would be nightfall before we'd even left this clearing. I reached back and grabbed his leg, pulling it up past my hip.

"Whoa!" He teetered for a moment, off-balance and startled, but before he could protest, I already had his other knee locked in place, and I bent forward so he wouldn't fall back. His head was bowed over my left shoulder, and I felt the heat radiating off his face.

"Am I hurting you?" he asked anxiously, glancing down.

" _Please,_ Beau."

The heat from his skin, if anything, intensified, and he looked up again, staring straight ahead.

I paused, and I suddenly took his hand in mine, pressing it to my face. I breathed deeply, taking in a lungful of the concentrated, burning scent.

"Easier all the time," I murmured to myself.

Then I was off.

I was on a high like never before—I felt his heart hammering against my back and his breath against my neck, and yet it was far more bearable than I ever would have guessed. Wonderful, even.

As we flew through the trees, for a moment my thoughts flickered back, to the feeling of my lips against his forehead. I'd been strong enough for that. More than strong enough, really. I wondered—what else might I be strong enough for?

We broke through the trees, and in a moment we were beside his truck.

"Exhilarating, isn't it?" I said. Excitement was pulsing through me—I had always loved to run, it had been my greatest distraction there in the beginning. But it was something else entirely to be able to share it with him.

I waited for him to get down, but several seconds passed and he didn't move. His limbs were rigid as boards, locked in place.

"Beau?" I said, glancing back, concerned.

His eyes were wide, face white. "I might need to lie down," he groaned at last.

"Oh," I said, a little penitent. "I'm sorry."

I waited, but he still didn't move for a second. Then at last he pried the fingers still gripping my shoulders loose, and suddenly everything seemed to come undone at the same time. He fell back, stumbled, and collapsed on the ground.

His eyes were still wide, face frozen in a look of such shock it was almost comical, but I didn't let myself laugh. I offered my hand to help him back up, but he ignored me, putting his head between his knees. He looked like he was going to be sick.

Not sure what else to do, I put a soothing hand on the back of his neck.

"I guess that wasn't the best idea," I murmured to myself.

"No," he mumbled from between his knees, "it was very interesting." He was a bad liar.

I couldn't suppress the laugh this time, a sound of mingled incredulity and delight at his usual oversensitivity to my feelings.

"You're as white as a ghost," I told him, laughing out loud again. "No, worse, you're as white as _me_!"

"I think I should have closed my eyes," he admitted.

I grinned. "Remember that next time."

At this, his head came up, and he stared at me. "Next time?" he said apprehensively.

The look on his face had me laughing again.

He gave me a dark look. "Show-off," he muttered as he put his head back down again.

I crouched down beside him and waited for him to recover. The tension in his body slowly relaxed, and some of the color returned to his face.

When I felt like I'd waited long enough, I leaned in, and murmured in his ear, "Look at me, Beau."

He raised his head obediently, and he blinked, apparently startled to find me so close.

"I was thinking, while I was running—" I began.

"—About not hitting trees, I hope," he interjected. He was still breathing a little unsteadily.

I smiled. "Silly Beau. Running is second nature to me. It's not something I have to think about."

"Show-off," he repeated.

We both sounded like little kids, but I didn't care. I had never felt like this before—so happy, so free, but free in a completely different way from the freedom I had felt when I had felled the tree. I felt younger than I had ever felt, full of unbound energy, capable of anything and everything.

"No," I said, "I was thinking there was something I wanted to try."

Carefully, so carefully, I reached up and took his face in my hands.

He went completely still. He didn't even breathe—just as well. I didn't want anything to interfere with my concentration. I moved very slowly, aware of each second, of every centimeter as I closed the gap. I hesitated for a moment, our faces barely an inch apart. Then, very carefully, I pressed my lips gently to his.

I remembered those afternoons in the Biology room. The electricity that hummed in the air, buzzing, trying to pull us together. It was like that—magnified a hundredfold. A shock coursed through my system, and the unfamiliar hunger suddenly rose up inside me, overwhelming, impossible to curb. Like having the taste of blood in my mouth, the frenzy had begun, and it was going to be impossible to stop.

However, I seized it where it was, taking control. My hands remained gentle, my resolve firm.

But there was one thing I hadn't considered. He felt it, too—the electricity, the onset of the frenzy. Suddenly his hands were in my hair, crushing my face to his. His mouth opened, and he breathed deeply, at the same time I felt his heavy breath on my face.

Venom filled my mouth, the lure of his blood impossibly magnetic as the scent spun around my head.

However, I was still in command of myself, and instantly all my safety measures went up. I froze within his grip, afraid I might hurt him if I tore myself away as I had before. Then I carefully forced his head back away from mine a few inches.

He saw my face, and he knew he was trouble.

"Whoops," he said, eyes a little wider than usual.

"That's an understatement," I answered. I'd stopped breathing, and I kept my teeth gritted against my instincts.

He glanced guiltily at me. "Should I...?" He tried to pull away from me, but I didn't let go.

"No, it's tolerable," I said, and it was true—the call for his blood was still as powerful as ever, but I was concentrating, and I felt in no danger of falling prey to my instincts. I added, "Wait for a moment, please."

I kept us where we were, our faces barely a few inches apart. I could tell he was trying not to breathe on me, but he didn't quite succeed. But I breathed steadily and evenly, at the same time I waited for the whirling storm of excitement—more than one—to subside.

At last I was calm again. However, there was no guilt or paralyzing fear of what almost happened—nothing had almost happened. In spite of the temptations, of more than one kind, never at any point did I fear I might give in to them.

"There," I said, grinning.

He was staring back at me, our faces still inches apart. "Tolerable?" he asked in a low voice.

I laughed. If I had felt good after the run, it was nothing to what I felt now. I would never allow myself to get overconfident, but I was getting better at this. All I needed was some more practice.

"I'm stronger than I thought," I marveled. I had held up better than I could have ever expected, given that twist at the end. "It's nice to know."

He looked penitent. "And I'm not. Sorry."

"You _are_ only human, after all," I pointed out.

He didn't look as though he found that much of a comforting excuse. "Yeah," he muttered, sighing.

A little reluctantly, I disentangled his hands from my hair, then got to my feet. I held out my hand for him, and I pulled him to his feet. However, the moment he tried to step away, he swayed unsteadily, as if with vertigo.

I watched him, grinning. "Are you still reeling from the run, or was it my kissing expertise?" I said playfully, then laughed again.

"Both," he admitted.

I glanced at the truck. "Maybe you should let me drive," I suggested innocently.

He eyed me skeptically. "Uh, I think I've had enough of your need for speed for today..."

"I can drive better than you on your best day," I pointed out. "You have much slower reflexes."

"I believe you, but I don't think my truck could handle your driving."

I raised an eyebrow. "Some trust, please, Beau."

He paused, and reached into his pocket, as though in submission. However, his hand stayed there, and he suddenly grinned, a little impishly.

"Nope. Not a chance."

I pursed my lips. Like I was going to let him get away with that.

I reached out and grabbed him by the shirt, pulling him into me. He barely caught himself on my shoulder.

"Beau," I said in a low, serious voice, "I've already expended a great deal of personal effort at this point to keep you alive. I'm not about to let you get behind the wheel of a vehicle when you can't even walk straight." I added as an afterthought, "Friends don't let friends drive drunk."

He frowned. "Drunk?"

I grinned, and I was so giddy I felt almost drunk myself. Deliberately leaning up so my face was close to his, I murmured, "You're intoxicated by my very presence."

He blinked, and for a moment he looked dazed. Then he sighed in defeat. "I can't argue with that." As he held out the key and let it fall for me to catch, he added, giving me a look, "Take it easy. My truck is a senior citizen."

I gripped the key in my hand in triumph. "Very sensible."

I let go of his shirt, and reluctantly pulled away from the hand on my bare shoulder.

As I headed toward the driver's side of the door, he called after me, "So you're not affected at all? By my presence?"

I couldn't tell if this was a last-ditch effort to win the argument, or if he actually meant the question seriously—there was a note of insecurity that seemed too ridiculous to think about, but at this point I wasn't putting anything past him. I was beyond intoxicated. I was a life addict.

Automatically, I reached back and took one of his hands, pressing his palm to my cheek. I closed my eyes, absorbing the feeling of the soft feel of his skin against mine, the warmth. I breathed deeply, letting the scent wash over me.

"Regardless..." I murmured at last. "I have better reflexes."

I had not been sure what to expect today. So much could have gone wrong, so much I might have destroyed. I had lived in fear of the monster I might become, feared my own weakness. I still was not certain if what I was doing was right—no, I knew I was not right for him. But he had chosen me and, in spite of all the odds, I loved him enough that that decision did not have to be his death sentence.

In the midst of my eternal midnight, the sun had risen, and so began a day I never expected to have. I knew the day, this unreal dream, this fantasy, would eventually draw to a close, that day would once again give way to night. But that was all right. This was enough. So long as he was with me, my existence had meaning.

I remembered how for so long I had often wished for sleep, envied the humans who could lay down in their beds and drift off into oblivion. No longer. My mind was wide awake, full with anticipation for tomorrow, and the next day, and the next.

I knew this glorious day would eventually come to an end. But I still had time left, and I would enjoy this twilight to the fullest—until the night came again.

* * *

A/N: And! That's the end at last. Well...sort of.

The epilogue will be going up before long, which will be skipping ahead to the end of Life and Death. (For anyone out there who might have been reading this story on its own, again, this Midnight Sun Reimagined is a supplement to the other Reimagined stories I've worked on, so this is a Midnight Sun based on Life and Death with the original Twilight ending, not the real Life and Death alternate ending.)

You can expect it on the usual four-week schedule, at which time, if all goes well, the prologue along with the first chapter of Breaking Dawn will be going up. (Yes, though there might have been some doubts, Breaking Dawn is actually happening.) In the meantime, I'm also planning to put up the short story, 'The Third Life of Brenden Tanner,' most likely next week sometime. While I don't consider it in any way necessary to the core story, I had written it to help me get things straight for the chapter in the clearing near the end of Eclipse, and figured I might as well put it up. Feel free to check it out if you're interested.

Thanks so much to everyone for reading, I've so much appreciated every single one of your thoughts and comments. This might be the Life and Death story I've enjoyed working on most so far, and I'm so excited to get to Breaking Dawn. Let me know what you thought of this last chapter if you get a chance, or if you have any questions, and hope to see you in the epilogue! C: (And to those who celebrate it, Happy Easter!)

Posted 4/22/19


	18. Epilogue

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Epilogue

The thin blue line pulsed across the screen, sharp, jagged. With every spike, a low beep issued from the monitor, even and steady, but too quiet to be reassuring.

The room was dark but for the glow of the screens, yet still I saw every detail of the white hospital room clearly. The slant of the blinds, the pattern of the floor and ceiling tiles, the large, bulky equipment. And the hospital bed, on which a long, lanky form lay, perfectly still in a drug-induced coma, covered from head to toe in strips of bloody gauze.

 _I'm sorry._

I didn't speak the words aloud, but they repeated themselves in my mind over and over like a chant. _I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry._

I bent my head to my hands. My fault. My doing.

Images flashed through my mind—Beau, standing in a wide clearing, watching my family play a harmless game of baseball. Three passing nomadic vampires, their faces curious as they approached. The leader—Joss—staring straight at Beau, and her lips curling back from her teeth as she prepared to strike. The thoughts that went through her mind in the instant when I moved to block her.

I saw her crimson red eyes burning in my mind, in that one moment as they locked with mine. She saw the human was important—and, greater than her thirst for blood, abruptly all her hunger for a challenge rushed to the surface. She looked at me, the ferocity in my eyes, and suddenly she wanted me—wanted me for her next opponent.

My hands curled into fists against my scalp, fingers trying to dig into my hard skin. Maybe it was inevitable it would have turned out like this. Had I thought I could bring him into my dark world, and there would be no consequences? Even if I could conquer my own demons—bringing him around me and my kind, how could I have thought he wouldn't attract the notice of others? Become a target?

Still, I could never have anticipated anything like Joss. Clever, lethal—and above all, ever in search of a new and interesting challenge to take on. And after the irritation and insult of being blocked from a human's blood she wanted, what better challenge than to stir up the ire of a large, powerful coven, to threaten that which was apparently of such value?

I was the one she was interested in. The one with whom she had wanted to play her sick, twisted games. She, the hunter, would take my human from me, and then she would enjoy the chase as I came after her, consumed with rage and a lust for brutal vengeance. And for all the steps we took to keep him from her reach, in the end, she had outmaneuvered us with absurd ease. I knew it was a miracle that Beau now lay before me in a hospital bed covered in bandages, rather than in a coffin.

Joss could have killed him, of course. She had had him in her power. But what she had wanted most was to ensure I would give chase, to enrage me to such a point I couldn't think. Which was why she had decided to play with him first before she consumed him—torture him, make him scream and beg me to exact revenge for him. She had broken him, and then, at last, the ultimate torture—bitten him. Started the process of transformation, the greatest horrific agony of all.

At this thought, I was momentarily distracted. The venom—it had been very close. We had arrived in time to wrench Joss back before she could finish the job, but by then the venom was already beginning to spread. It was Carine who suggested it—that I might be able to suck the venom out, and stop the change. She was too busy trying to get the bleeding from his other wounds under control, and so it was up to me.

Looking back, I still had trouble believing it. That I had really sucked out his blood, tasted it in my mouth, and been able to stop myself before I killed him.

The terror of that moment now often repeated itself in my mind. Trying to save him from this damned fate, and having the taste of all my temptation on my tongue, while simultaneously fully aware, fully cognizant, and knowing that if I didn't stop, I would murder that which meant more to me than all the world. But in the end, I had stopped. I wrenched myself away from it, and even with the memory of it strong in my mind, I kept a hold of myself. Once and for all, I had proven it—that my love was strong enough to overcome even the most overpowering of my monstrous instincts.

I was confident now, confident in a way I hadn't been before. I was no longer afraid of myself, of the monster—I would never hurt him, neither on purpose, nor by accident. Because I loved him, with a love that was so much more than the physical hungers of my body, the pleasures of his touch, his fingers along my arm or his warm lips against mine.

My love was a conscious effort every moment, a choice to endure the severest of pains. Determination, willpower, sacrifice. I had made it through the darkest hour, the most difficult of temptations, and I knew myself now. I knew what would be the most important to me when the pain and desire were at their most potent.

"Edythe?" said a quiet voice from the door, interrupting my thoughts. "Are you still here?"

I turned my head to see Renée Dwyer, Beau's mother, sticking her head into the hospital room. Her eyebrows formed a crease above her eyes, worried.

"Hello, Mrs. Dwyer," I said, keeping my voice as low as hers, though of course, we could have shouted and it wouldn't have woken Beau, heavily sedated as he was.

"Please," she said, coming into the room a little more fully, closing the door behind her, "call me Renée." She paused, looking back at me, and her face was only lit by the glow of the monitors.

"Do you know what time it is?" she asked.

I turned my eyes to the clock on the side wall. It was a quarter after one in the morning. Technically visiting hours had ended a long time ago, but exceptions were made for family, and I had used all my persuasive powers combined with Carine's influence as a medical doctor herself to convince them to allow me to stay as long as I wanted to. Carine and I both figured this made things much simpler than if I were forced to sneak into the room every night.

"I must have dozed off," I lied softly. "I just woke up a few minutes ago."

"Won't your mother be wondering where you are?" she asked.

I shook my head. "Carine knows where I am."

I studied Renée's face. She had the same bright blue eyes as Beau, the color of a clear sky. At the moment they were tired, with dark circles beginning to form beneath them. This was the second night she was spending at the hospital.

Renée had spent a lot of time in Beau's room at first, holding his hand, stroking his head in the small space not covered in bandages. But if anything, that had only seemed to make her more anxious and fidgety, working herself up into a panic, until I finally suggested that she step out for some air, and let me keep watch. She had agreed, and I thought the few hours she had spent away had done her good. She'd relaxed so much that, sitting in the lobby, trying to read a magazine, she'd drifted off to sleep, and only just woken up again. She rubbed her neck, and I knew it was sore from sleeping at such an odd angle.

Renée had an interesting mind. Unlike Charlie, none of her thoughts were muffled from my hearing, rather, they had a childlike quality that was hard to describe. She loved Beau deeply, there was no doubt about that—had things gone the wrong way, had we been too late, it was hard to imagine how long she would have been incapacitated with grief. However, she was also quite capricious and, like a child, showing her love through such devotions as sitting the entire night through by his bedside when he was in the hospital did not come easily to her. Though she certainly loved the image of the dutiful, devoted mother, she had trouble making herself sit still that long.

Seeing her, hearing her thoughts, I had begun to toy with new threads of understanding regarding the way Beau saw the world. I'd believed that Beau's seeming certainty that eventually I would lose interest, grow bored with him, was ridiculous, and even insulting—hadn't I more than proved myself? I always believed it a result of the fact he didn't see himself at all clearly, how beautiful he was, both outwardly and inwardly.

But now I wondered a little if his mother might not have had something to do with it. He had watched her all his life, moving from one hobby to the next, throwing herself fully into some new obsession, then dropping it just as quickly for something else, ever in search of the new and exciting. Not that he doubted his mother's love for him, but they were family and she was his mother, so they had a tie outside her brief flirtations with various distractions. Perhaps unconsciously, he had seen my inexplicable avid interest in him like one of his mother's hobbies—all-consuming for a moment, but quick to shift to something else.

Eventually, however, he would see. He was far from a small, temporary distraction. He was the core of my existence. If he ceased to exist, I would cease to exist—that was what I had decided, as we raced toward the ballet studio where Joss held him, and we did not know if we would make it in time. I knew if he died, I would die. I had already formed a plan, should it ever come to that.

Renée studied me carefully for a long moment. She glanced at Beau, then back at me. For all her capriciousness and seemingly unorganized, scatterbrained ways, she had a keen perceptiveness about her, especially when it came to matters regarding her son.

Although she had not been given many details about my involvement, only that I was a 'friend from Forks,' already she was beginning to suspect the true nature of things, at least where my feelings were concerned. I had to resist the urge to smile—I was beginning to see where Beau's sharp intuition came from.

Unlike her son and Charlie Swan, Renée was not comfortable with silence, and she added to fill the void, "If you want to go home and get some sleep, Edythe, I can stay here..."

However, she glanced at the turquoise recliner I was sitting in, which she remembered was less than comfortable, and she had to fight to curb her reluctance.

"No," I said softly. "Thank you, Renée, but I don't know if I could get up now. By the time I got to my hotel, I would just be turning around and coming back."

Her eyebrows furrowed again. "I guess, if you like." She smiled a little, though she still looked worn with worry. However, she stared back at me for a moment, thoughtful. "Edythe," she said suddenly. "You're...a very mature girl for your age, aren't you?"

I shook my head. "I don't know about that. Of course, your son certainly is." I paused. "But, you already knew that."

She smiled, and her thoughts, which were already receptive to the idea of liking me—suspecting what my feelings were, she couldn't help but like any girl with good taste enough to like her son—warmed to me even more.

"I'm going to go back to the lobby and get something with a little caffeine in it from the vending machine. Can I get you anything?"

I shook my head. "No, thank you. I think I'll be going back to sleep soon."

"All right then." She stood there for a moment longer, feeling a little awkward, before she turned and quietly withdrew, closing the door behind her. It wasn't until she was halfway down the hall that she thought, _Oh shoot, I should have asked her if she wanted a pillow and blanket, I didn't even think of it. Beau would say I was being so rude...I'll ask her when I go back, maybe. I just have to make sure I remember it. Oh, I can't wait until he wakes up and I can tell him the news about Phil! He'll be so happy he doesn't have to live in Forks anymore..._

I continued to stare at his face as the sound of her thoughts moved further away. I remembered then that Beau would soon have the option to leave Forks if he so chose. I wondered if she was right, if Beau would be eager to get away from the rain and cold, back to the sun. He'd seemed so melancholy when he first moved to Forks, so homesick. This could be the solution he had been waiting for.

If he did go to Florida, the location of Phil's new job, I couldn't follow him there, much as I might want to. And if he did choose to go away from me, would I let him? Could I?

I closed my eyes, and leaned back in my chair. Yes, I could. If I loved him enough to taste his blood and keep myself from killing him, I could also let him go, if he chose to leave. I could do that—for him. So long as he was healthy and happy, I could endure anything else. I was still not strong enough to leave if he asked me to stay, far from it. But perhaps that was just as well; so long as I stayed with him, I could protect him. Protect him from the monsters of my dark world.

At the thought, my eyes slowly opened again, staring at the glowing screens, and the sharp, jagged line in the darkness. I saw my own eyes in the reflection on the screens, and they were suddenly dark with something more than thirst.

I shouldn't have watched the video. I knew I shouldn't, and yet, I hadn't been able to stop myself. And now I couldn't help but go back and relive every moment of what Joss had done to him with the intent that I would see it, as she hoped I would become so enraged that I would give chase, do everything I could to hunt her down.

The sounds and images continued to slither through my mind like dark shadows, making me flinch—the snap of his bones breaking, his blood pooling on the floor. And above all, the sound of Joss's taunting voice, mixed with his screams of agony.

Joss was dead; she couldn't threaten anyone anymore. But still, even dead, I hated her. I almost regretted that she was dead, that she had been allowed to die so quickly. That I would never have the chance to kill her myself.

I knew without a doubt what would have happened had her plan succeeded—had she murdered Beau as she intended after such needless torture and cruelty, and left for me that video. It would have been exactly as Joss hoped for. Before I followed through with my plan to destroy myself, I would have hunted her, as far and as long as I needed to.

Joss had believed herself invincible. Too smart, too skilled at her games to ever lose. But she would have lost to me. Her own cunning would have been my weapon—in a direct confrontation between the two of us, she could not hope to stand against me. I would see every clever plan before she laid it, and she would fall into my trap.

But that wouldn't have been the end of it. A quick death would have been far too good for her. First, I would have caught Victor, her ever loyal mate, and I would have killed him in front of her. And then—

My breathing sped, my fingers tightening around the arms of the recliner as I pictured my vengeance in my mind's eye.

I would have incapacitated her, and then dragged her to an abandoned ballet studio I had picked out beforehand. Mirrors on every wall—cinematic, as Joss had said. So that she might see her own destruction from every angle.

Then I would have proceeded, very slowly. I would have followed the precise pattern she had followed. First, I would have broken her arm, wrenched it from her body and burned it to ash. Next I would have ripped open her stomach, shredding her from the inside out, in payment for his ribs. Then I would have torn each of her fingers from her other hand, and I would have torn away her leg, the same leg she had broken on Beau, and burned it. I would have bitten her hand, her entire arm, until she felt the sting of my venom. I would have taken her apart, piece by piece, and I would have made her scream—though it took more to injure an immortal, we had a greater capacity for pain. Our senses were so sensitive. When we were torn to bits, we felt every cell as its own entity.

And of course, all the time I would have been inside her head—I wouldn't have allowed her to sneer in the face of physical pain, or be destroyed with dignity. I would have taunted her with the knowledge that she had brought her own destruction upon herself, that she should have known she was far weaker than me. That, from the moment she had picked a battle with me, this outcome was inevitable.

I would have asked her questions about her past, and she would have been unable to keep from thinking of the answers, until I had drawn from her an array of weapons, her most painful memories. I would have humiliated her, enraged her, until her mind was in as much torment as her body. I would have destroyed her body slowly, drawn it out for hours, days, weeks—and I would have broken her mentally, until she was nothing but a hollow shell. Only then could I have found some small measure of satisfaction, though it would still have been far from enough.

My breathing came rapidly in the small hospital room. However, the heart monitor pulsed again, breaking into my thoughts, and my dark fantasies faded.

There was no use thinking about these things, especially given that Joss was already dead, and Beau was not. That was as it should be. Carine would not be proud of me, to know I was entertaining such thoughts. Still, I couldn't quite bring myself to feel sorry for them.

I didn't look at the letter, now in my jacket pocket. Beau's final message for me, his last words before he willingly went to the hunter to die.

The final two lines I had read over and over. _I'm not sorry that I met you. I'll never be sorry that I love you._ But it was the few lines before that I couldn't look at, that lashed out at me accusingly. _Please, please don't come after her...this is the only thing I can ask you now. For me._

Beau had mentioned the letter in the video, which was how Archie had figured out that the letter Beau had given him to leave for his mother was really for me—the future had been so muddled in all that insanity, all his focus on Joss, he hadn't seen it before. In the video, Joss had asked Beau if he was going to say his friends would avenge him. Beau had answered that he had asked me not to.

" _And do you think she will honor it?"_ Joss had asked.

He had replied, _"I hope so."_

It was so like Beau. He didn't care at all about vengeance. Even about to die, all he could think about was that he was glad that his mother was safe, and wanting me to be safe after he was gone.

It hurt knowing that, if Joss had succeeded and he had died, I would have betrayed his final request. I would not have done what he asked, but instead what Joss wanted me to do. But it was inevitable as the pull of gravity—if anything, reading his final words would have had the precise opposite effect from what he hoped. Seeing his goodness, his kindness one more time, and his words at the end, _I love you—_ and knowing that Joss had snuffed out such a life, for no other reason than to play games with me—if anything, it would have only incited me further to vicious retribution.

I loved him, would protect him no matter what. I would destroy utterly anything that threatened him. Joss had been the first, and Victor I would also annihilate someday. And if I ever failed, if Beau's fragile human body ceased to function—before going to meet my own end, I would make the one responsible pay in blood. I would make them regret it.

I stood up from my chair, and moved around to the side of his bed, to stand beside him. I gazed down at his inert form tenderly, then reached out and brushed my fingers against the one bit of skin on his face that wasn't covered in gauze.

I would not be able to hide the fact I had seen the video, but I would not tell him I had read the letter. I wouldn't tell him his final request had been in vain, what I would have done if things had turned out differently. There was no point in his worrying over that. I loved him, and keeping him safe from now on was all that mattered. I wouldn't pursue Victor, at least for now, as much as I might like to—I would stay with him, so long as he needed me, so long as he wanted me. I would not go away from him to chase vengeance. Not yet.

Outside, the sky was dark, and I watched the blue line of the heart monitor continue to pulse.

* * *

A/N: And, there's the end. A lot of challenges in this project different from any of the other Reimagined projects so far, but well worth it for setting up the last leg of the journey.

Thank you once again to all of you out there reading this, and for all your thoughts and comments. The preface for Breaking Dawn should soon be up either later today or early tomorrow, along with the first chapter. Hope to see you over there! If not, thanks again so much for reading, and hope you have a great year!

Posted 5/20/19


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